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maruyaaya · 4 months ago

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hihi ^^ i just read your oikawa and noya fanfic and can i ask how you thought of them together? i have never thought of them but now i think that they are cute!

YESSIR!!! if i am to be so very completely honest and real with you, anon, i came to the idea of shipping oinoya because they are my top two favourite characters in haikyuu 💀 (akaashi is third <3). idk one of my fav things ever is just to take my two fav characters in a media and ship them together. hence mizuan (pjsekai), donjay (dc), ranaya (bandori), etc etc. so i will be honest i was entirely selfish in my idea for my oinoya ff. BUT i am nothing if not devoted to my rarepairs (i make up 21.4% of the ranaya tag on ao3 LMFAO some poor ranaya fan just trying to find content and they keep coming across my annoying gay ass 💀💀) so before i devoted myself to writing 17k words about oinoya, i needed to think about if this actually made sense to me.

and boy it did.

so the first thing i’m thinking is “dude do oinoya even interact in canon???” and they do! well, sort of. they have indirect interactions if that makes sense. oikawa aims his serve at nishinoya and nishinoya remarks on multiple occasions that he thinks oikawa’s serves are so cool. there’s this little bonus sketch where noya even wishes that oikawa would always be the one serving.

like guys i think it might be a little gay to be so obsessed with another players serves.

and that’s where the concept for my fic came from. the idea was literally just “what if oikawa’s practicing his serves and nishinoya finds him and they just start practicing together?” and then they slowly fell in love doing that. the main driving force was how much they both respect the other as a player. i feel like they both respect each other’s skills, but (at least, in the beginning of the fic) don’t quite like the other as a person. like they’re on opposite teams, oikawa’s dramatic ass considers it a principle to hate everyone on karasuno, noya doesn’t like oikawa’s “pretty boy attitude”, and they just don’t really like each other. however, they both think the other is a really fucking good volleyball player so they both resign themselves to practicing volleyball together; you don’t need to like someone to acknowledge that they’re good at volleyball (as said by noya himself in the fic)

the very first time i came up with the concept of them practicing volleyball together, the first person who heard about it was, of course, oli (akur000 on tumblr) because they are always the first to hear my fic ideas. then the idea slightly evolved in the tiktok dms of one of my irl friends, s (who does not have a tumblr but i love her just the same (she also proofread my google translate spanish in the fic with her four years of high school spanish)), and honestly the fic just grew from there. i started writing, the title came to me while i was listening to the crane wives song allies or enemies bc it just immediately struck me as a song that fit them esp in the context of my fic. “now listen close // you owe me ears for dropping eaves // forget it all // you caught me in a moment weak” and “what happens now? // do we have another go? // do we bow out, and take our separate roads? // i’ll admit i’ve had my doubts // but i want to be let in, not out” and “all is fair in love and war // but i can't fight with you anymore” which fun fact! i almost made the title of the ff be that last line of “all is fair in love and war” but then decided that i didn’t make oinoya antagonistic enough for that title so we ended up with are we allies or enemies? (this will be the death of me)

so let’s talk canon basis. there isn’t really much of one, but there is a little bit! so as mentioned, nishinoya often talks about how cool he thinks oikawa’s serves are. he’s eager to receive them. example below. he even mentions that when he was in middle school, his team went up against kitagawa daiichi and there was a guy who “could serve really well”; i don’t think it’s a stretch to say that he is very likely referring to oikawa.

so we know nishinoya respects oikawa but what about oikawa? what does he think about noya? well we get considerably less from his side, but that’s not to say that we get enough! while watching the shiratorizawa v karasuno match with iwaizumi, oikawa refers to nishinoya by his name. this is notable only because oikawa doesn’t do it for other members of karasuno. you can see in the below image that he calls tsukishima “four eyes” and even refers to hinata as “chibi-chan”. (kageyama is, of course, mentioned by name but honestly he’s a whole other basket of worms). nishinoya is mentioned by his name. not by a nickname, his number, or a describing feature. what this means to me is that noya stood out enough as a player to catch oikawa’s attention and he made note of it; he remembered nishinoya. oikawa doesn’t learn the name of every member of every rival time he plays (why would he?) but he does remember nishinoya’s and i think it’s likely because he admires nishinoya’s skills. noya stands out to him as a particularly skilled player. oikawa’s petty, but he recognizes when someone is good at volleyball.

so what we get is a mutual respect between oikawa and nishinoya. they both think the other is good at volleyball. another thing from canon that pulled me into them is the way they are the members of their respective teams with the biggest reputation (though i’d say noya is second on karasuno reputation wise bc obviously kageyama has the biggest reputation on karasuno). i don’t think anyone will debate me on oikawa having the biggest reputation of any seijoh member. he’s feared by other miyagi schools and for good reason. i think nishinoya’s reputation is clearer in the manga than it is the anime, but there are so many occasions where karasuno is about to start a match and someone in the crowd goes “lol who tf is karasuno?” and someone replies “idk but they have kitagawa daiichi’s kageyama tobio and chidoriyama’s nishinoya!!” like i’m not even joking that the phrase “chidoriyama’s nishinoya” is uttered so many times when spectators are trying to figure out who karasuno is. i only have two examples that i can pull from the manga off the top of my head, but trust me that it happens a fair few times. oikawa and noya are both known to be really good players.

and honestly? that’s kinda the extent of the canon basis of their relationship. so then what can we discuss next? well, we can discuss what exactly about that makes such a good dynamic and why i think they would genuinely work as a ship/couple.

oikawa and nishinoya both love volleyball. they're both incredibly skilled and they love playing, but i think that out of the two of them, nishinoya is the only one who actually likes volleyball (at least, as of 2012/2013 canon). this is part of a longer oikawa character analysis i could write, but i think that though he loves volleyball more than anything and no world exists where he would allow himself to quit, during high school (and middle school too), he stopped enjoying it and focused more on "becoming great" rather than "having fun". it's not until the brazil trip where he meets up with hinata and remembers that volleyball is fun that he regains that like for volleyball. i think a very strong theme in haikyuu is the loving vs liking of volleyball as evident in characters like hirugami. volleyball is everything to oikawa.

oikawa is willing to sacrifice everything to succeed. he wants to be the best, he wants to win. volleyball is absolutely everything to him. he goes pro because he cannot fathom a life where he isn't putting absolutely everything he has into volleyball. he'll bleed and he'll bleed and he'll give everything. that's why he loses his enjoyment for volleyball. he loves it, of course he loves it, but he doesn't like it because it's so painful to him. and yet, he can't understand ever giving it up.

nishinoya, on the other hand, does love volleyball, but it isn't everything to him. he quits volleyball because his friend quit. he likes volleyball, but he can give it up. he doesn't go pro because he likes volleyball as a hobby. he would never want to do it as a job because i think it would rob him of the enjoyment he has for it. nishinoya likes volleyball because he gets to play with his friends. he doesn't have that all-encompassing obsession with volleyball that oikawa has. for him, volleyball is about the game, not the result. he just wants to play.

so the idea of putting oikawa and nishinoya face to face is really interesting to me because you have two players, both extremely talented and with the ability to go pro, but only one of them wants it. you have oikawa, who doesn't think he has a future if it isn't to do with volleyball and then you have nishinoya, who could never professionally pursue volleyball because it would destroy everything he loves about the game. i didn't have the opportunity to explore this in my ff, but something i was really thinking about oikawa looking at nishinoya and seeing someone who could go pro, but doesn't want to and he just doesn't understand it; a part of him is convinced that nishinoya is throwing away his talent. he just doesn't get it and this could be such a big point of contention between them.

(i will be potentially writing another oinoya fic where i can explore this specific concept more bc frankly, i'm obsessed with it 🤞🤞)

both oikawa and noya are very passionate about volleyball. they're both also very passionate people in general. they're very overdramatic. like out of their entire teams, they're probably the only people who would care about "fraternizing with the enemy" or whatever tf they get so dramatic about in the fic (tanaka would probs have an intense reaction at first but i think that would just be his general distaste for oikawa). like you cannot tell me that if some other member of seijoh was dating a member of karasuno, oikawa wouldn't throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.

i think that oikawa is a character who isn't used to playing the "straight man" in his dynamics. because he's around iwaizumi so much, he's often the one who gets to be the silly one while iwaizumi tells him to shut the fuck up. around nishinoya, he has to occasionally be the straight man which i think is a new role for oikawa and one that i found kinda fun to explore. like you get oikawa, now faced with someone who has so much energy that it looks exhausting and he starts thinking that maybe he finally gets why iwaizumi always seems so fed up. it's a fun dynamic to explore and it's not one that's very prevalent in most oikawa ships so it's something a little different.

and i think oikawa really likes that about nishinoya. i think he absolutely loves watching noya be so exhilarating and full of energy off the court and then immediately becoming silent and focused when he stops onto the court. i think he would find noya's serious demeanour while playing to be very attractive (taking volleyball seriously is a major green flag for him).

another part of their dynamic i like to explore is the confidence levels. oikawa appears to be very externally confident, but internally, he doesn't really believe any of that; he's actually very insecure. nishinoya, on the other hand, is externally confident and it's true. he has confidence in his abilities and though he is always willing to learn more, he, at least, knows that he is good. i think that noya would be able to help oikawa a lot with that part of his insecurities because nishinoya admires oikawa so much. i think they work together in that sense.

they’re both also always so eager to learn! they always want to improve, they always want to get better. yaku says that that’s what makes nishinoya such a terrifying opponent. they both have a very intense drive to improve. and that’s something they could do together; they can practice together and teach each other. you can’t tell me that noya wouldn’t absolutely love showing oikawa how to do his rolling thunder move and oikawa would get such an ego boost when noya would ask him to show him how to better his libero sets.

and ugh i absolutely love the idea of oikawa moving to argentina and then noya, who is in the process of travelling the world, visits him in argentina. noya would absolutely go watch oikawa’s games and whenever noya comes to visit, oikawa has to bring him onto a court to play some volleyball. the whole argentina team knows noya by name and i think they’d love to bring noya in for a little practice game from time to time. noya, while travelling, sends oikawa pictures of him doing obscure shit in the countries he’s in (eg: the one that noya sends asahi of him fishing in italy LMFAO) and oikawa’s team thinks that they’re the funniest things ever. it’s like “tooru, where is your boyfriend now?” and oikawa points his phone at them to show them a picture of nishinoya hugging a penguin in fucking antarctica or some shit.

also guys can we talk about how the ship name for oikawa/nishinoya might be oinoya, but they could also be called noyaoi which guys… that’s the funniest fucking thing ever. like are u kidding me?? this ship is called no yaoi and you don’t ship it??

i’m so sorry i rambled for so fucking long 😭😭😭 i could talk for longer on oinoya but i fear i have written far too much on this post. basically tl;dr oinoya is a good ship with a really good dynamic and i think more people should consider it seriously.

#this has to be the longest tumblr post i’ve ever written this is so embarrassing #i’m so sorry anon you did not ask for this essay #i just really love oinoya i’m sorry LMAO #oinoya #oikawa tooru #nishinoya yuu #fic: are we allies or enemies? (this will be the death of me)#imeda answers asks!!

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argentnoelle · 1 year ago

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Oubliette

The moment Light writes in the death note he becomes a killer, but he could not become Kira without L. (L/Light, slow burn — Yotsuba Arc with all the mind-games intact)

chapter 3 (read on ao3)

June 15, 2004. Day fifteen of confinement. The principle of a camera is simple. In fact, without need for a lens and a mechanism for capture, the simplest camera is a mere pinprick, an opening between one thing and another.

Called the "camera obscura," it is a dark room with only a small opening through which images from the outside world may be viewed. Aristotélēs (Ἀριστοτέλης) wrote of it. In the third century, in Dream Pool Essays, the philosopher Mo Di (墨翟) described the effect, saying "when a bird flies in the air, its shadow moves along the ground in the same direction. But if its image is collected through a small hole in a window, then the shadow moves in the direction opposite of that of the bird." Just as in a burning-mirror, a concave glass, which "reflects a finger to give an upright image if the object is very near, but if the finger moves farther and farther away it reaches a point where the image disappears and after that the image appears inverted. …So also the oar is fixed at the rowlock somewhere at its middle part, constituting, when it is moved, a sort of 'waist' and the handle of the oar is always in the position inverse to the end." In the early 1000's, Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥasan ibn al-Ḥasan ibn al-Haytham (أبو علي، الحسن بن الحسن بن الهيثم), who expanded on the optics of Ptolemaios (Πτολεμαῖος), observed a partial solar eclipse from inside the device. In 1558, in Natural Magic, the "professor of secrets" Giambattista della Porta, wrote "you must shut all the Chamber windows, and it will do well to shut up all holes besides, lest any light breaking in should spoil all. Only make one hole...as great as your little finger" through which the sun will shine through—then, on the far wall, the image will appear "and what is right will be the left, and all things changed."

You are in a camera obscura, a "dark chamber" now. Following that principle, you must be the reverse of whatever you were before you entered. When you lie on a sold stone floor, featureless, bare, and rough—not because you don't appreciate the thin pallet provided but because at some point in these days of tedium the textural and temperature novelty of finding new and more uncomfortable ways to rest is all that is keeping you from breaking in the silence and spitting out an unfounded confession—you wonder what Ryuga Hideki, Ryuzaki, L, would think about something that goes along the lines of: 'I am Yagami Light and I am innocent, in this jail cell, in which you can see a perfect image of myself. But because I am only an image conveyed through a pinhole lens, I must therefore have been Kira, the killer, outside of it.' You think he would be as happy to take that as he was to take the possibility of you committing crimes in a fugue state, in your sleep, or through a dual personality, which is far-fetched enough that he himself has admitted he doesn't think it likely.

All either of you are really going on here is the circumstantial evidence, which is as damning now as it had been when you confined yourself; and yet now, just as then, nothing can definitively be proven. Were you really framed by Kira? Has Kira been L the whole time?

If he is, there is no way you would know. L is not the type to gloat openly, or, you surmise, at all. He takes everything with a strange equanimity. Unless it involves discussion of things beyond this world; shinigami and the like. Wouldn't it be a funny twist if the second Kira (Misa, no doubt about it) had been speaking literally this entire time? About shinigami and eyes? If the kiras are in fact gods, or possessed by ones, how is this task force meant to find and defeat them?

Perhaps that was behind the source of Ryuga's terror. After all, like you, he hates to lose.

You sigh into the floor. Your eyes are gritty with lack of sleep, your hair is a greasy mess plastered over your forehead, and you didn't turn in your latest paper for Statistics. This turn of events isn't even unexpected—as far back as the first time you and Ryuga met, you brought up the idea of clearing your name to him through something like this. Of course, at the time, you'd been picturing something more akin to house arrest than being cuffed hand and foot in a cell like a common criminal; and you'd been sure that a month would be more than enough time to prove your innocence, since Kira would continue to kill while you would be in isolation. Unfortunately… Kira hasn't obliged. Three weeks, and no deaths? It isn't like him. (You've either been framed, or L is lying to you about the deaths stopping to force a confession. Or both.)

While you're waiting here, the real Kira is gloating, and you burn with rage at the thought. A possible attempt on your father's life, the fact that that his worshipper Misa saw you in Aoyama and found a way to stalk you all the way back home and become your girlfriend, the self-importance with which he toys with his enemies, with L and with you—well, you'll show him. If you have to, you'll kill him yourself.

And yet it is because Kira that you are part of the investigation of the century. It is because of Kira that you met L. You can't bring yourself to regret that, to regret any of it.

Not that you had thought so when the two of you first met…

"I've never been so humiliated in my entire life," hadn't you thought? That L or someone sent by L had so brazenly accused you, surrounded you as though you were nothing but a stone in the game of Go played out at scale between him and Kira. You had raged, actually slammed your fists onto the desk and seethed. But because you also hate to lose (it is true that this is a trait shared between you and L and the first Kira) you soon decided how to play it, and even spoke as though L could hear your vow: "I'll make you trust me. And when I've finally proved my innocence to you, I'll go one further. I'll catch Kira myself."

(read on ao3)

#death note

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weekend-whip · 2 years ago

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Nya + S: Sirens by Hop Along

S. Music Choice (Sirens by Hop Along) (Major Spoilers for Crystalized)

(Send me a letter and a character and I’ll write a small fic!)

AO3 Version

. . .

For a single year and a few days, someone once named Nya had twirled around the waves in an eternal dance, echoing the calls of her dolphin friends and fish followers. She had seen the bottom of the deepest trenches of the ocean that divers and fishermen could only dream of, and breached the sea’s surface to bask in the sparkling rays of the sun on the finest mornings. She made the ocean her sky as she spread her wings in the form a dragon and glided through cloudy waters, and she’d sing siren songs in a solo choir born of melodies and sea salt, inviting anyone out there who could hear her to join in or simply listen.

She could go anywhere, be anything, see everything...

She just couldn’t be Nya anymore.

Her mind briefly flashes back to the precipice of it all, standing atop the highest building in all of Ninjago, where the division between Nya Smith and the Endless Sea began to rapidly disappear. If someone had asked her right there and then if it was going to be worth it...

She’d think of the hopelessness the world faced, all of Ninjago threatened to be returned to the sea from which it was wrenched out of. She’d think of all the people that would become lost beneath the waves had she’d done nothing. She’d think of the friends, family, and loved ones she’d leave behind in the single act of saving them all.

And she’d think of how the sea itself lures her in with a siren call that harmonizes perfectly with the tune of her own watery soul, and how there’s no way she could possibly deny the pull. Even if she tried...even if she wanted to.

She’d dive off the edge of the building, spreading her arms as she flies into her new domain and dragging the flood along with her in her departure to the ocean.

She’d give up her freedom, all that she is to become everything of something else, and in an act of love, in a bid to preserve life itself...

She’d give up everything with a smile and she would say,

“Yes.”

It was worth it.

. . .

But suddenly, all that vastness is swept away in a brilliant burst—her connection to every last drop of water within this realm severed and the immense comfort it offered is replaced by two arms that pull her in and hold her close. Which, somehow, is nearly equivalent. As if by instinct, she clutches at the hand that drifts into her vision, drawn together like the pieces of a yin and yang.

She feels another familiar hand run through her hair—a hand roughened by both hard work and battle, and somewhere in the bubbling, resurfacing memories that had been drowned...Nya recalls that it belongs to her brother.

The moment of reprieve is brief and fleeting—just when she gets used to sensing things that are dry and warm and solid again, this familiar comfort finds itself chained in handcuffs.

She’s not fully conscious, but through bleary eyes she can see her friends, her teammates, her family dragged around like criminals, and they’re surrendering themselves willingly, and they’re all smiling at her for some reason despite the fact that this is all wrong and she’s not even entirely sure of why or what’s happening or who those other ninja are or what but—but—but—

“I hope it was worth it, criminal.”

She hears the question asked over the sound of the helicopters outside; over the sound of the police sirens surrounding their once peaceful monastery. She wants to protest, wants to move, wants to scream in opposition and unleash a watery wrath unto those who would treat her friends like this, who risked everything just to see her live her life again—

But, she can’t seem to find any of that fight in her, all of her energy going just towards staying awake.

And when asked again if the chaos they’d sown was worth it, if the lives they’d uprooted in the process had been worth it, if going against their own principles just for this had been worth it, Nya’s own personal resolve shakes a bit—she did this—her choice led to this—this is her fault—

But Lloyd Garmadon only casts his green gaze in her direction, where she’s now safely surrounded by Wu, Pixal, and Skylor, and he’s got the nerve to smile in the wake of all these disasters occurring at once—

—and fleetingly, Nya wonders if this is how they felt when she had fled into the sea grinning with content—

—and she can’t find it in her to get angry over this, because all of them, even Zane with his neutral expression, have made peace with their decisions...and are pleased by the outcome regardless.

She thinks of the hopelessness the world will face without them, all of Ninjago potentially threatened by villains that will come to believe the world has no one to protect it anymore. She thinks of all the people who once believed in the goodness of Ninja, turned entirely inside out by what could be painted as a selfish endeavor for their own ends. She thinks of all the friends, family, and loved ones they’re all leaving behind in the act of saving a single soul.

And she thinks of how the group is led outside in a single-file line, pulled closer and closer towards the dulled sound of the sirens outside that harmonizes with the dissonance within her mind, and how they aren’t possibly fighting against the pull. They don’t even try...and they don’t even want to.

Lloyd marches with his head held high out of the monastery, taking the rest of the ninja along with him in their departure to be placed behind bars, where the light of the outside world wouldn’t reach them again for years to come.

They give up their freedom, all that good reputation that they’ve built up over the years in exchange to become the very thing they once fought against, and in an act of love, in a bid to preserve a single life itself...

Lloyd gives up everything with a smile and says,

“Yes.”

It was worth it.

. . .

Nya currently lays in the place she calls home, in a monastery upon a mountain once filled with people that loved her—a number cut by over half now that the boys have found themselves in jail. The sirens of the police helicopters echoed throughout the night as they carried her brother, her boyfriend, her best friends all away...and left behind only a melancholic silence.

Nothing calls her any longer: not the siren song of her friends in the ocean, not the sirens of the police or firemen or the ambulances that swept the city in the wake of the ninjas’ quest just to get her back...

Her ties to the entirety of the sea, her greatest ties to the land...both of them, gone within the same instance.

Wu, Pixal, and even Skylor drift back and forth past her room, always exchanging looks of concern or pity, but unable to actually figure out how to help. None of them could relate to the sudden–and apparent—complete loss of one’s element. None of them knew how to be human again, once you’d briefly been among the realm of something nearly divine.

And when you were once the vastness of the Endless Sea, reaching out to every corner of the realm they now call Ninjago...

The sudden silence is suffocating, and somehow

being almost alone in all the world

unable to hear the call of another

out there, somewhere waiting

has never felt quite as

lonely as it does

now.

And she wonders, if giving up everything truly is worth it, when the ones you gave it up for aren’t around to even appreciate it.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #nya smith #nya ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #fic tag #listen i couldn't come up with ANYTHING #so i just blasted the song in my ears and went off baby #why am i so dramatic in these #im doing a fluffy one next #crystalized spoilers #ns16 spoilers #ninjago crystalized #ninjago spoilers #spoilers

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renaerys · 3 years ago

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PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back.

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table.

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine.

“Origin?” he asked.

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.).

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down.

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself.

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee.

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack.

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius.

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later.

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other.

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week.

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card.

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête.

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes.

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning.

Milieu was her word.

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library.

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them.

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel.

“Okay, ready for another round?”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done.

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad.

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence.

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas.

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!”

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float.

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said.

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…”

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged.

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd.

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board.

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself.

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said.

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning.

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down.

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg blossom #ppg brick #ppg shook #powerpuff girls fanfic #february fic prompts #this probably won't show up in the tag due to cursing #so reblogs are super appreciated!!

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 2 years ago

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Gas and Fire

by peanutscomet

Opposites attract. Like-minded acquaint.

As a logician such as herself, Caitlyn finds this principle the key to untangling the messy question of whether her newest fancy is something of a partner or a pal. One could question the legitimacy or accuracy of a system designed to calculate and quantify the unpredictable nature of love, but after some trial and error, she was sure the logic was full-proof.

Or, the one where Caitlyn abandons Vi instead, showing how she could choose to (part 1) and why she would (part 2).

Words: 2604, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (Arcane) - Character, Vi (Arcane) - Character, Original Characters

Relationships: Caitlyn (League of Legends)/Original Female Character(s), Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Young Caitlyn (League of Legends), Teenage Caitlyn (League of Legends), Enemies to Lovers, Headcanon Backstory, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Caitlyn Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Lesbian Caitlyn (League of Legends), Like VERY Lesbian Caitlyn, She Listens to Girl in Red, i'm projecting, Lesbian Vi (League of Legends), Fluff, Romance, Abandonment, Caitlyn Character Study, Logical Caitlyn, Usage of Cupcake, canon-divergent, Blue's Shadow references, Cuddling, Spooning

from AO3 works tagged 'Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)'

#ao3feed-piltovers-finest #a03feed-piltovers-finest #caitvi #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction

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rainingpouringetc · 4 years ago

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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go

ch 2 - remembering the time you saw them just yesterday

ch 1 | read on ao3 | masterlist

---

It took time for Alastair to grow used to Grace, more than it had taken when he’d become friends with Ariadne. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be friends with Grace—it was more complicated than that. She had been a key instrument in much of Cordelia’s pain for quite some time when they all arrived in London. Even if Cordelia and James were now engaged, it did not erase the past.

But that also did not mean he wouldn’t give her a chance. He knew nothing of her motives or childhood, and for him to judge her for such things would make him the highest of hypocrites. So when they left the library and Ariadne suggested dinner, Alastair agreed and directed the carriage toward a restaurant he’d been to with his mother and sister a few times. He’d wanted to take Charles, but Charles always had a strict policy of not being seen together in public. Really, it was a wonder that they had lasted as long as they did.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, full of more laughter and light than Alastair thought any of them were capable of. Ariadne had been wrapped up in Anna for so long, head over heels for a girl who refused to fall in love, and Alastair was still trying to deal with the scorn of the Merry Thieves on top of worrying for his mother and father. And, of course, Grace was dealing with her own problems, what with her mother being arrested. Then there was the matter of her engagement to Charles. Alastair knew there was no chance they were in love, and he wouldn’t wish a loveless marriage on anyone. Not even them.

Ariadne had the carriage drop Alastair off at his house before she and Grace returned to the Bridgestock residence with a promise to talk again soon. Alastair could see them whispering together conspiratorially as they pulled off into the night. It made him smile. Ariadne deserved more friends, more so than anyone he’d ever met.

He bounded up the steps and into his house, shutting the door quietly behind him. His mother might already be asleep, and if she was, the last thing he wanted was to disturb her.

A light shining under the door to the library caught his attention. Who could be up still? Frowning, he pushed the door open carefully and glanced around.

Cordelia was curled up on the sofa with a volume of poetry, her feet tucked beneath her and her red hair tumbling down to block her face like a curtain. She looked up as he entered, a discontented frown forming on her face. “Hello,” she said in a small voice. “Did you have a good time?”

Though the question would usually be sweet and thoughtful, there was a sharp undercurrent to it that had Alastair furrowing his brow. “Yes,” he said simply, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. “So sorry we missed the party.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” He tried for a smile, but it was quite difficult with the look Cordelia was giving him. “I was sure it was going to be dreadfully boring, and I avoid all such things on principle.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Ariadne?”

Alastair stared at her for a moment. Cordelia wasn’t one to beat around the bush, but he hadn’t quite expected her to state it so bluntly.

He found he had no answer. It wasn’t as though he had intentionally kept it from her. It just… hadn’t come up.

When he didn’t respond, Cordelia made a noise of frustration and closed her book with a heavy thud. “Did you know Lucie asked me if the two of you had an understanding? And after you left Matthew stormed off in a huff. And I was so stunned I couldn’t say anything to either of them.” She looked down at her hands, still clutching the book. “I thought we were past this, Alastair. I thought we were telling each other things again. I thought—” She looked up at him, dark eyes beseeching. “I thought we were getting better.”

“That’s not fair, Cordelia, and you know it,” Alastair snapped, his defensive walls slamming into place.

She scoffed and returned her gaze to her hands, the movement sending her hair in a cascade over her shoulder. Her face scrunched and Alastair realized she was trying to keep tears at bay. Stunned, he pushed himself forward, sliding closer to her, and pulled her into his arms. He was no longer sure she had been talking strictly about the two of them. “Oh Layla,” he murmured, and he held her while she wept silently.

They stayed there, clinging to each other, for several long minutes. Cordelia cried herself out after a bit, and now she drew back, wiping at her eyes and apologizing profusely. “Layla, tell me what’s happened,” Alastair said a bit sharply, cutting her off.

She gazed at him sadly, looking immensely tired. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Try the beginning,” he teased, and it made her chuckle, which was enough.

And they talked.

Alastair got the distinct feeling that Cordelia wasn’t telling him everything, but it was more than she’d told him before. She told him that she was worried about her engagement to James—though she didn’t specify why—and that she wished the Merry Thieves would end their silly feud with him, and that she didn’t know how to feel about their father’s return. She asked about Ariadne, and Alastair told her. He told her about their friendship and how it came to be, how it wasn’t at all like his so-called friendships at the Academy because it was real and substantial, and how he wanted Cordelia to come with them sometime because he just knew she and Ariadne would hit it off.

At some point just after midnight, Alastair realized that Cordelia’s head was pillowed on her arm and her eyes were drifting shut for longer and longer periods of time. “Off to bed now, Layla,” he whispered, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. She groaned sleepily and leaned her head on his shoulder as he escorted her up the stairs. Once she was safely tucked away under her covers, Alastair descended the stairs and glanced at the clock. He should go to bed as well, he knew, but the gears of his mind wouldn’t stop turning.

A walk it was, then.

Walks were his go-to for nights like this when the world seemed too big or too small, too much or not enough. They cleared his mind like nothing else he’d tried. He checked to ensure his spears were still in their places in his jacket and set off.

It took a while for his mind to catch up with where his feet were leading him. Somehow, he’d let himself wander all the way to Thomas Lightwood’s residence without noticing. He stopped quite suddenly, feeling his face warm with embarrassment. What was he doing, running to Thomas’s house in the middle of the night? Thomas despised him. If you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. For good reason, too, Alastair supposed, but that didn’t lessen the sting.

Alastair shook his head at himself, at his foolishness. He’d had a good day. Ariadne had convinced him that Grace Blackthorn was, for whatever reason, worthy of a second chance, and he’d allowed himself to think that perhaps Thomas could believe the same about him. But Thomas didn’t believe that.

It didn’t seem to matter to Thomas that Alastair had tried to apologize and make up for what he’d done. It didn’t seem to matter to Thomas that Alastair was trying to change.

Frustrated with himself and with the man he held in such esteem for reasons he didn’t wish to consider, Alastair started to turn on his heel with every intent to march home and stew in his thoughts for the rest of the night. Before he could get far, his attention was caught by a door closing hard. He looked up and down the street. There, at the door of the Lightwood residence, was Christopher Lightwood.

Alastair stared at him, a bit puzzled. What on earth was he doing here so late? The hypocrisy of this question was not lost on Alastair, but the fact remained that Christopher Lightwood was jogging down the front steps of a house he didn’t live in at what must have been almost one in the morning.

Alastair started to duck away, trying to hide behind a lamp post or a shrub, but Christopher spotted him and stopped immediately, raising a hand in greeting as a small smile spread across his face. “Alastair? Is that you?” he called, unmindful of the late hour and empty street.

Heaving a sigh, Alastair straightened his jacket and stepped cautiously toward the Merry Thief.

Christopher approached him eagerly, as though he had forgotten they were meant to be on bad terms with one another. “What ho!” he exclaimed as he drew near, a pleasant smile lighting up his peculiar lavender eyes. “I was just on my way back to Grosvenor Square, think I’ve just about ironed out the mistakes in my fire messages, and I want to try it out before I forget. Are you stopping here or just passing through?”

Put on edge immediately by Christopher’s friendly, loquacious nature, Alastair stuttered, “I—er—well, just… passing through, I suppose. What are you doing out so late?”

“Oh, just thought I’d pop by and say hello to Aunt Sophie, see if she had any compost I could use for a project Henry’s been thinking about. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” Christopher had started walking as he talked. Thoroughly exasperated, Alastair followed.

“You didn’t notice the sun wasn’t out any longer?” he asked incredulously as they turned a corner, putting the Lightwood residence firmly out of view.

“This is London. The sun is hardly ever out.” Alastair was sure if it was a joke or not. Before he could ask, Christopher continued, “And besides, they don’t tend to care all that much when I come and go, long as I’m home for supper and don’t get into trouble.”

Alastair cut a glance at him. “Who’s they?”

Christopher made a broad gesture, as though to indicate a great many people. “Oh, you know. My aunts and uncles. Thomas and Anna and Eugenia. Them.”

Though he doubted Christopher meant it in a sad way, Alastair could not help the pang of secondhand loneliness that came with the words. Someone ought to care, he thought. Someone ought to notice.

“Would you like to come help me at Grosvenor Square?” Christopher asked suddenly, devoid of self-consciousness. “I’m sure Henry and Matthew are asleep by now, and I could use an extra set of hands. And—well, you’re good with equations, aren’t you?” A contemplative look filled Christopher’s eyes. “I think I remember Thomas saying something about that. Even if you aren’t, I could still use your help. Thomas said you were quite helpful with the antidote.”

Alastair’s heart clenched at the use of Thomas’s name, but he simply swallowed and set his jaw. “I am good at equations. Are you sure it wouldn’t cause any trouble, though?”

“What do you mean?” Christopher looked completely puzzled.

“I mean—aren’t you supposed to hate me along with the rest of your little friends?” Alastair said plainly. He got the feeling Christopher would appreciate getting straight to the point.

“Oh. Oh!” It was as though a fog had lifted, allowing Christopher to finally see the source of Alastair’s apprehension. “Well, I suppose I should, but I have to admit, I’m not quite sure as to why. I mean, sure, you were always a bitter pill while we were at school, and James and Thomas especially were a bit disappointed when you turned out to be so mean, but that was only for a short while and time has passed now. We’ve all grown and changed. You’re no more the same person you were then as any of the rest of us.”

He let out a sharp sigh, looking increasingly fretful with each word, like it was important that Alastair should understand him but he wasn’t sure he was accomplishing this goal. “I’m a scientist, Alastair. I believe in the evidence that is set before me, that I can examine and make conclusions from. And the evidence says that you can still be quite rude at times, but you can also be kind. I know you helped Thomas make the antidote. You haven’t been nearly as cruel as you were at school. You even apologized and everything. It doesn’t make logical sense not to forgive you under the circumstances,” he insisted.

Alastair was so stunned he stopped walking in the middle of the street. Christopher looked back at him in surprise. “Are you coming?” he asked, gesturing toward the road. It would lead them to Grosvenor Square, with Charles and Matthew all under the same roof. Two people Alastair was desperate to avoid.

Something in the way Christopher was looking at him made Alastair square his shoulders and nod. “Yes. I am.”

kit is here!!! i love him so much i loved writing with him. let me know your thoughts!! <3

tagging @ohcoolnice @stxr-thxif @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @doitforthecarstairs @axoloteca @clockworknights lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list for this fic <3

#tlh #the last hours #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #christopher lightwood #tlh fanfic #artie tries to write #chain of gold #chain of iron #coi spoilers #(eventually)

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eryiss · 3 years ago

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Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hello everyone. I’ve been wanting to write something longer for this couple for a while, and this idea seemed quite fun. I hope you all enjoy it and maybe I can convert some of you to living Freed x Gajeel. Happy reading.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter One - Makarov's Idea

As he walked towards the guildhall, Freed kept looking up at the moon.

The nights sky was cloudless and gave him an unhindered view of stars and the moon. It was a beautiful sight, but made him frown a little. The moon was large and nearly in its fullest state, a concern for the time of year. It had been some time since the full moon had coincided with the longest day of the year, and it seemed like it was going to happen again this year. The brimstone in his blood seemed to fizz at the idea, and he quickly looked away.

At his side, Laxus bumped his shoulder to get his attention. His frown told Freed that the dragon-Slayer had seen his concern, and he smiled to comfort the man.

"Nothing to concern yourself about," Freed assured him. "I've got it under control."

"Make sure you do," Laxus instructed. "No missions until it's over, right?"

"Of course," Freed nodded.

Laxus seemed to think the matter settled at that, but Freed wasn't so sure. The entirety of the guild - or at least those not already on missions - had been called to the guildhall that night. Makarov hadn't explained why he wanted everyone present, but it was entirely possible that they would all be dragged away on a mission and that Freed would be forced to act as if everything was normal. So promising that he wouldn't go on any missions was more wishful thinking than anything else.

Still, if he did have to go on a mission, he could handle it. Six years ago, it had taken him by surprise. Not this time.

"Let's take bets," Bickslow, unaware of the hushed conversation, stated mischievously. "Fifty-fifty odds of it being either a world ending disaster we have to deal with, or some weird competition so he can perv on the gals again."

Laxus winced at the second option, but didn't deny it.

"It better not be the second one," Evergreen huffed. "But knowing him, it probably will be. So I'll put five hundred jewels on that."

"Nah, it's been too long since we all nearly died," Bickslow shrugged. "Five hundred on the world ending. You two sticks in the mud gonna get involved?"

Freed had stopped listening to their conversation moments before, and found his worries back on the sky. The full moon had been scheduled in exactly one week, and it meant trouble for him. He should be making preparations in case he lost control of himself; this was all a distraction. He should leave town, just in case.

His team looked at him in concern, but remained quiet.

As they approached the doors, Freed's mind remained preoccupied. A hand clasped onto his shoulder and jerked him back, and he realised it was Laxus. He frowned, only then realising he had nearly walked into Gajeel Redfox. The dragon-slayer glared at him, arms crossed to highlight his biceps. He didn't have much else than his physical strength, Freed supposed, so he had to show it off.

"Idiot," Gajeel spat at Freed, and Freed nearly scoffed at the hypocrisy of the word. If either of them was an idiot, it was not Freed.

Gajeel was walking into the hall before Freed could retort.

"God, who put a stick up his ass?" Laxus muttered as he shook his head. He looked down to Freed again, looking worried. Perhaps he hadn't believed Freed's assurances as Freed had hoped. "You need to go back? He ain't taking over yet, right?"

"No, I was distracted, that's all," Freed assured him, but none of his team looked happy. "I'm in control of myself. But I've got plans on how to approach the demon should I need them."

"Can we help?" Evergreen asked.

"I'll ask if I need it, but I don't suspect it'll happen," Freed placated them. They were still unconvinced. "You needn't coddle me, I'm fine. Particularly when there's apparently a fifty-fifty chance that the word is ending. Though, I'm putting five hundred jewels on the competition."

Apparently, the mention of gambling, broke the ice.

When they got inside the guildhall, it was more crowded than normal. All the tables on the lower level had been taken, and as such they were forced to climb to the S-Class balcony and sit there. None of them particularly minded that, and they waited for a short while for the rest of their guild mates to file in and settle, drinking and talking as they did so.

Eventually, Makarov walked onto the stage and stood before the crowd of wizards. After a few shouts for them to be quiet, the room fell into silence.

"Thank you all for coming," He began after clearing his throat. "I'm sure you're all wondering why we're here."

"For you to creep on us," Ever mumbled, and Bickslow snickered.

"Fairy Tail is a guild with its bedrock founded on the principles of friendship. We work so well because we work together. Whereas other guilds maybe have one or two teams, we have many," Makarov explained, gesticulating as he spoke. "It makes me so proud that you've forged these relationships and implemented them into your working lives. Your friendship and love allows you to work together to fight harder and become stronger, side by side as friends. I'm immensely proud of you all, but as of late I've noticed a problem with your work."

He paused, and Freed rolled his eyes. Everything was so dramatic with him.

"While you're very good at working with your own teams, you sometimes struggle working with the guild members you're unfamiliar with," Makarov continued, as if this statement were a tragedy. "And sometimes your teams won't be available, and I don't want you not taking group jobs because your regular team isn't around."

"Starting to think I bet on the wrong side," Bickslow grumbled, taking a drink.

Freed found himself only half listening. Whenever Makarov made an announcement there would be a lot of preamble that Freed didn't particularly care to listen to; not when he had bigger problems to deal with.

Perhaps, if his demon did become more powerful under the moon, he could rune himself into a cage of sorts. That might work, though perhaps physical manacles and shackles might be more practice. His team would be able to help with that, most likely. They wouldn't be happy about it, but Laxus had seen first hand what could happen when the demon was allowed to take over without restraint. He would understand.

No. He was worrying for nothing. The demon was under control now. Besides, he should be listening to his guildmaster.

"So, to broaden your opportunities, I've come up with an idea," Makarov grinned. "For the next week, you'll be split into pairs that you don't normally work with, and you'll spend all of that time training together. These partnerships will be random, and by the end of the week you'll be fighting side by side in a tournament to prove how well you can work together."

Hm, maybe a distraction would work better than restraints. Makarov's idea was flawed to the point of pointlessness, but a week of training might wear his body out to the point his demon wouldn't have the energy to take over.

"And, I'm sure you're all thinking why you should care about this, so there's a prize set up for the team who wins," Makarov was grinning wider now. "Fifty thousand jewels!"

That sent a rush of excitement and talking through the guild. Freed found himself wondering where the money actually came from.

"That's not all. The fights will be ranked on teamwork, cohesion and communication, and at the end of each fight you'll get points based on how well you did," Makarov was running his hands together. "And the team with the least points will have to do a punishment, and the winners decide what it is!"

"Goddamnit," Bickslow mumbled, handing money to Evergreen. "Always about punishments with him."

"If you knew that, then you should have bet smarter," Evergreen laughed.

Freed ignored his friends, leaning back and watching as Mirajane brought out a large, ridiculous top-hat. It wasn't difficult to guess that this was how Makarov intended to randomly choose the teams; pick them out of a hat. Maybe Laxus was right and his grandfather was turning mad, but he seemed to be enjoying himself so Freed had no place to complain.

He would simply drink his beer, watch the chaos unfold, and use the oncoming disaster as a distraction.

——

Gajeel swallowed down his beer with a scowl on his face. When Makarov had called this meeting, he had known that whatever the old crow had to say, it would piss him off. When Makarov had made his announcement, Gajeel had been proven right.

A whole week with some random wizard seemed pointless. Gajeel worked alone, and only teamed up with people when needed. This wasn't going to work.

Fuck, it was such a waste of time! He could be doing jobs and earning his rent instead of fucking around with a stranger, trying to embrace Makarov's ridiculous mantra about the importance of friendship. Or if he wasn't making money, then he would have at least liked to relax and take some time to rest. He didn't want to make a new friend, he wanted to eat, sleep and maybe find a guy to take to bed. None of that would happen with some Fairy Tail mage hanging around his neck.

"Our first team is," Makarov began as he rummaged through the stupid hat he'd had made. "Juvia and Natsu!"

Dammit! Juvia was one of the few people he could have tolerated. The other was the bookworm, and Makarov would probably say them working together wasn't in the spirit of things.

Still. At least the salamander had to work with someone who extinguished his fire. That was funny.

"Kickass!" Natsu yelled into the crowd, standing up and pumping his fist in the air because he lacked self control. "We're gonna dominate!"

They wouldn't.

"If you'd like to meet up and discuss your plans then now's the time," Makarov stated, and Natsu was making his way to Juvia immediately. "And now it's time for the next team up," He reached into the hat again. "It's Evergreen and Lucy."

No loss there. Maybe he and blondie could have been okay, but Gajeel wasn't pissed the chance was gone.

Lucy looked up toward the balcony and waved at Evergreen a little intimidated. Evergreen looked resigned, but after some nudging from Bickslow, made her way down the stairs and started to talk to the woman. Gajeel absentmindedly wondered if the two had ever had a conversation, because they looked awkward around each other; painfully so.

Fuck, that was going to be him, wasnt it?

Maybe he could convince whoever he was paired up with to lie and say they trained when they just spend the week alone. But then there was the tournament, and the threat of some random punishment, and Gajeel had already been humiliated after losing the guild-wide race and having to dress like an idiot; it wasn't happening again if he could help it.

"Next up," Makarov reached into the hat again. "Bickslow and Gray."

"Fuck yeah, some eye candy at last!" Bickslow yelled, and people laughed. Gajeel rolled his eyes, watching as Bickslow leant over the banister and looked towards his teammate. "Wanna make a deal, every time you strip, I strip."

Gajeel could see Gray avert his gaze as if bored, but he was red in the cheeks. They were even redder when Bickslow tossed his shirt towards him, both men now partially stripped.

Well, at least he wasn't with that idiot. The two of them would be a mess.

Many other teams were announced, and Gajeel found himself more and more annoyed each time. The partnerships made no sense, most of the time their magics wouldn't compliment each other, and Gajeel knew that it would end in disaster. At best, half of the partnerships might end up having a fight with each other, and at worst people would get hurt because they just didn't work. How the hell did Makarov think this was going to work out?

Maybe Gajeel should have slunk out and not attended the meeting. He was running out of money for rent, and his landlord was a bastard just waiting to kick him out, so it made sense for him to get a job. Maybe if he left now he could avoid it altogether.

"And next we've got Gajeel," Makarov shouted, and Gajeel cursed. "And Freed."

Oh fuck no. Absolutely fucking not!

Gajeel was not working with that stuck up prick. A guy like that had clearly never worked a day in his life, probably grew up in a fancy ass house and only got into guild work because it was a trend to slum it with the other wizards. Everything about Freed - holier than thou - Justine screamed pampered brat. He would probably throw a fit if he got dirt under his fingernails. He was the damn opposite of a man like Gajeel, and he knew he'd struggle not to murder the spoiled shit before the week was over.

Could he even defend himself? He had magic, but as far as Gajeel knew, that only worked when he had time to prepare. Hardly practical in the heat of battle, and what would he do without it? He wouldn't have the balls to use his sword as a weapon, Gajeel was pretty sure of that, and he looked like a gust of wind could take him out.

Fucking dammit. The salamander was better than this!

He damn near walked out of the guildhall then and there, because he couldn't deal with an egomaniac freak for a week. But, as he went to move, he saw the egomaniac freak walking towards him, and he was not going to allow Freed to think he was running away. He turned in his chair to meet the man's gaze but didn't make a move towards him. Freed could come to him, not the other way around.

Soon, Freed was in his space, standing above him. His expression was as unimpressed with the situation as Gajeel felt. At least they could agree on one thing.

He looked up to meet the mans gaze. Freed was… taller than he thought.

"I think it's fair to assume neither of us want to do this," Freed said rather than greeting him. Gajeel was right, he was a dick. "And I expect that the way I train myself won't be the same way you do, so likely there's a chance we'll come to blows, so I have a proposition."

Huh, maybe Freed was gonna suggest they lie and only pretend to train together. Gajeel would agree, but make Freed squirm first. "Yeah?"

"If we went somewhere and tried to train how we both normally do, it would be an act of futility," Freed explained. "We have six days to work together. I propose that for the first three days we train however I wish, and you follow my instructions. For the latter three days, we train however you wish and I will follow your instructions. That way, we both get three days of training ourselves in a way we know works, and the week won't be a waste of time entirely."

Huh.

That wasn't what Gajeel had thought, but he could deal with it. He had to admit, trying to find a way that would work for them both would not work, so this meant he'd at least have three days to improve himself.

"Fine," He grunted. "But I wanna go first. You're gonna drag me to some library or something like that, and that's a waste of time. Might as well make it a rest day after some actual working out."

Freed sighed, as if dealing with a child, and Gajeel nearly kicked him in the balls. "If you insist,"

"I do."

"Well then, I'll see you on Monday."

"Guess ya will."

That was it, and Freed turned to go back to his table. Gajeel emptied his drink, then grinned. Three days where the asshole had to do as he said; that was interesting. Freed probably spent his life being pampered and spoiled, but not with Gajeel. Nah, he was gonna work. Gajeel was gonna put Freed through hell and love every damn second of it.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #freed justine #gajeel redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #Canon Divergent #Multi Chapter #Chapter One #Word Count: 2.75k

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sunforgrace · 4 years ago

Note

I have a physical copy of T&S from when I was 13 yikes but yea I love it on principle of the nostalgia for it and stuff but I think it would've done way better as an original story, not a fanfic.

yeah. I’ve been here long enough to see fanfic authors do the thing where they take down their work on ao3 because they’re gonna try to publish it as an original work by changing the names and certain details. which, power to them, I know I’ve had moments where I’ve wondered if my time would be better spent dedicated to original fiction, or that if this idea was better used in that context. but I’ve always sort of been like hmm. who are these characters, if they’re implicitly derived from another source and just the names are changed. where does the audience investment come from if they’re not being built up as new characters for us to build emotional investment in, but are essentially the characters we’ve already become attached to but with different names for publishing reasons. I don’t know, I’ve always sort of mulled on that and had mixed feelings, not like it’s my place to comment on what someone else who I don’t know does, I’m just some guy.

anyways, point being I feel ironically the exact opposite with t&s where I’m like these feel like original characters that you assigned familiar names and the base supernatural framing, when I really think this could have just worked as original fiction

#t&spocalypse #Anonymous

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irandrura · 4 years ago

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Third and final post: what were my other thoughts?

Let’s talk about the game’s mechanics first.

I am overall very pleased with the battle gameplay. On the battlefield itself the gameplay is more-or-less unchanged from the past, but the character advancement and customisation system is significantly improved. Moving to a single overall character level and giving every character the ability to change classes at will is a much more fluid and elegant system than in the past, and the ability to choose the specific combat arts and abilities each character takes looks like it adds a lot of depth. It’s probably appropriate for the overall ‘teacher’ theme of the game that you have much more power to mould each character’s skills and talents, but I’d like to see it in other games as well. There’s an important balance to strike: on the one hand, characters should not be infinitely malleable, and should all have their personal strengths and weaknesses. On the other, so much of the fun of the game is in developing characters and watching them grow that it’s really good to be able to specialise them.

Speaking of battle gameplay, divine pulse is great. The Fire Emblem series has always struggled a bit with accessibility, and while casual mode definitely made the series easier, it also felt to me like missing the point. Casual mode is too easy, and by removing any risk of permanent death, it felt like it removed a lot of the game’s tension. Divine pulse is a much better way to make the gameplay a bit easier and less frustrating while still keeping the same feel as classic FE gameplay. It gives you just enough room to survive a lucky enemy crit, or a small misjudgement on your part, without totally removing the need to be careful. I approve. That said, I did feel that by late-game you probably had access to too many pulses and it removed the need to conserve them. With a dozen pulses, there isn’t much risk any more, whereas if it stayed capped around three to five, each individual pulse might have felt more precious.

(Apparently Mila’s Turnwheel in Shadows of Valentia actually did the mechanic first, and I totally forgot about it. Oh dear…)

Other gameplay innovations were more hit-and-miss, for me. Battalions were fine, but I don’t think I would have missed them if they weren’t there. They helped make the battlefield seem busier and more populated, but they don’t seem to have had a massive impact on the game. Similarly, monsters were mostly fine (Cindered Shadows boss notwithstanding), but again, I don’t think I’d mind very much if they didn’t come back. They rarely actually felt like the most dangerous enemies on the battlefield, and just required a slightly different strategy, and… well, maybe it’s just me, but it feels weird for FE to have boss monsters like that. I suppose arguably it’s been a tension in the series going all the way back to the original game? Marth was supposed to fight monstrous dragons, but his entire game was about enemy soldiers, and dragons didn’t stand out as the terrifying beasts they ought to have been. Still, I’m not sure I’m sold on them here.

When I started playing I complained that exploring the monastery was tedious. You can get into a routine later on, but for the most part, I did think it could have been streamlined more. Having lunch with students or going for special training or browsing the marketplace are all fun things to do, but a bit less sprinting all over the map to talk to everyone and return lost items would have been appreciated. The lost item mechanic in particular feels like busywork. A bit of exploring is nice, but only as long as it doesn’t get tedious. It might have been lovely to explore other locations as well – Enbarr, Fhirdiad, the army camp outside Gronder, etc. – but I can understand that the amount of work required would not be practical.

Speaking of tedium, though… I really could have done with a few more maps. Maybe this is my fault for constantly choosing battles, but I found myself replaying the same forest, plains, beach, or volcano map too many times for comfort.

I might also have liked for crests to be a bit more mechanically impactful, given their important to the world and the plot. I regularly forgot which of my units have crests, and what any of the crests do, since most of them have so little effect as to not matter. The only one I did usually remember was Felix’s Crest of Fraldarius, and that was mainly because it makes him do more damage and sometimes made him kill people I’d hoped to leave on one or two HP. I don’t think crests should have been overpowering, but a little more power would still have been nice. It should not have been so easy to forget that they exist.

Similarly, by the time I finished the game I realised that I had never used a Hero’s Relic, even once. I would like to say that this was a principled decision on my part, given that they turn people into monsters (and it looks like I was right about them being made from bone?), but it was mostly just the BUT-WHAT-IF-I-NEED-IT-LATER effect. They all have quite low durability, and while I understand that infinite durability, as with relics in previous games, was not an option due to breaking how combat arts work, it was still enough to discourage me from using them. Perhaps on a higher difficulty they would become necessary? I always feel a bit sad when for mechanical reasons I never let characters use their most iconic weapons.

Moving on from mechanics…

There is technically a shipping mechanic, with an S support for the protagonist, but it really felt like an afterthought to me. I don’t think the game would lose anything significant if you just removed all the S supports. Compared to a game like Awakening or Fates, where the second generation makes it mechanically important and the plot seems like it works best with a bit of romantic drama (f!Robin/Chrom and m!Robin/Lucina looking particularly intended), Three Houses is surprisingly chaste. I suppose picking a character to be your waifu might be part of the culture now, perhaps looking also at the growing influence of waifu gacha games, but for me it felt tacked on. I can imagine potentially rewriting the game to make romance a more important theme – perhaps talking about Jeralt and Sitri a bit more? – but to be honest I think that that would have been worse for the game overall.

In particular, it stands out to me as sitting a touch oddly alongside the teacher concept. One of the things that stands out to me about Byleth as a protagonist is the way that Byleth is in a superior position relative to the other units. You are a professor, in a position of authority, and you have more life experience. Your job is to teach and mentor these younger characters. This contrasts strongly with Robin, who I think was presented as the equal of the other Shepherds (your relationship with Chrom is that of comrade and friend), and with Corrin, who was presented as an inferior or junior (your siblings are older than you, and they start off with higher status). Because of that superior position, then, I found the game suggesting a feeling of responsibility towards them, and a feeling of pride in their accomplishments.

This might be a bizarre comparison, but in some ways a game that Three Houses reminded me of while playing was Princess Maker 2, a weird little DOS game from 1993 about raising a girl. The core loop of choosing activities to raise the stats of a character in your care, punctuated with occasional outings to fight monsters and get loot, felt quite similar. Similarly, the emotions that seemed to be evoked, to me, were emotions of care and pride: perhaps not paternal as such, since Byleth isn’t that old, but certainly the satisfaction that comes from nurturing a younger and less experienced person.

For the most part that actually worked, and I certainly applaud it for feeling less icky than Fates. If I compare tea parties to that weird Fates mechanic where you could invite characters to your room and touch their face, it is vastly less creepy. So I’m glad that the romance has been toned down.

And speaking of things that I’m glad aren’t prominent…

I’m deliberately burying this part in the middle of a long post. Tumblr is famously ruthless on issues like this, but fortunately I have a very low follower count and you’re all nice people. Basically, one of my worries going into the game was that Three Houses might be the ‘woke’ Fire Emblem game. I am glad to find that concern averted, at least so far. A person could perhaps make some pretty cringeworthy interpretations of Duscur to do with racial politics, but the game itself does not push you in that direction. Tumblr and AO3 love slash shipping, but as far as I can tell that remains as canonically unsupported as ever. Interestingly, while Three Houses has a small handful of same-sex romantic S supports and endings, as far as I can tell they’re all for Byleth and they’re all simply copy-pastes of the opposite-sex versions. It’s enough for me to genuinely wonder whether they’re in the original Japanese at all, or if they were added. I know translations of FE games have played around with character sexualities before, so it’s possible. At any rate, part of me was concerned that this might be the Dragon Age: Inquisition of Fire Emblem, and fortunately it isn’t. (I mean, I did actually enjoy Dragon Age: Inquisition, but at times it did get to be a bit much.) I’ll take this as a valuable lesson when it comes to not believing posts I see on Tumblr. You’d think I would have learned from previous games: popular fan interpretations of a character are often completely wrong. Three Houses seems for the most part to be a very traditional Fire Emblem game.

In terms of the overall series trajectory, I take Three Houses to be an overall positive sign. Awakening and Fates seemed to be taking the series in a direction that I didn’t care for as much, with heavy use of player avatar characters, much more fan service, and more trope-driven plots. Three Houses seems like a return to deeper worldbuilding and characterisation. The cast of characters overall has definitely been a high point: in Fates I sometimes struggled to build a team of characters that I felt truly fond of, but in Three Houses there were usually more characters I wanted to use than I had space for, and there were no recruitable characters that I truly disliked.

Really, the biggest disconnect between me and Three Houses, in the end, is the fact that Three Houses is built for replayability, and I don’t like replaying games very much. However, I don’t think I can in good faith call that a flaw or poor design: obviously there are a lot of people who love replayability, and considering that I got a good eighty hours of gameplay out of my first playthrough (DLC included) and enjoyed it, I’m not really in a position to complain.

So in the end, then, I think that while Three Houses is not my favourite Fire Emblem and does have some places where it could be improved, for the most part I think it’s quite a good outing and a significant improvement on the last few. It is not designed entirely to my tastes, but what is here is mostly good. Three Houses leaves me feeling much more optimistic for the future of the franchise than Fates did.

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glorious-spoon · 4 years ago

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The Light of Distant Stars [The Old Guard]

Part two of however many. Preparations to leave Earth, and a bit of Andy/Quynh from the early 21st century.

Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter 2 on AO3

It’s not the first time any of them has been in space. Joe and Nicky were in some of the first flights to Mars, back when it was a years-long round trip even inside the solar system. They’ve all been up in orbit a time or two, and Quynh spent about a decade back in the 2200’s working on the expanding moon base. Nile is still pretty sure that she single-handedly took down a vicious smuggling company that was behind a series of suspicious and deadly shuttle accidents, but every time she’s brought it up she’s gotten nothing more than a satisfied, catlike smile.

There’s nothing new about it, is the point. But this is different: this is a long-haul space flight to catch up to a generation fleet, where it’ll be decades or maybe centuries before they make it back to Earth. If they ever do.

“Well,” Nile says, once Booker’s managed to get the passage booked. He used one of his long-cultivated shady networks to get them on a protectorate fleet, the only thing that’s got a chance in hell of catching up to the ship with their new immortal. “It’ll be something new, anyway.”

He raises his eyebrows with a dry and skeptical look that makes it clear he can see right through her, but all he says is, “It certainly will be that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nile says, slapping his shoulder lightly. “Make sure you upload my book collection. The whole thing.”

“I don’t know if the ship’s computer has that much storage space,” Booker says, as if his isn’t just as bad.

“What is this, Star Trek?” Nile retorts. “Ship’s computer. My god.”

“I remember when that first aired,” Joe says, kicking his bare feet up into Nicky’s lap. Nicky chuckles softly, digging his thumbs into the arches. “That little house we had in Newcastle, with the state-of-the-art television. Technicolor. Ah. Captain Kirk…”

“Oh please don’t tell me you had the hots for William Shatner when Nichelle Nichols was right there,” Nile says, laughing.

“I have never claimed to be a man of good taste,” Joe says. Nicky makes a noise of protest, and Joe opens one eye to squint at him. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course,” Nicky retorts. “And it was DeForest Kelley you liked, anyway.”

“Those blue eyes,” Joe agrees nostalgically.

“Nichelle Nichols,” Nile repeats, because come on.

“What she said,” Quynh interjects from her seat at the kitchen island. She’s got three holo-screens up, scrolling through a dizzying array of banking data as she sips from a cup of delicately jasmine-scented tea that she definitely got from Nile’s hidden stash. Which is probably just as well, Nile thinks with a jolt. Might as well use it up. Their time on Earth can be measured in months now.

“See?” Nile says. “At least one of you has good taste. Is there any more tea?”

“In the pot on the counter. I made extra for you.”

“I appreciate that,” Nile says dryly, going to pour a cup full, “seeing as it’s my tea.”

“Just so,” Quynh says, and smiles as she slides the sugar dish over.

The first time she met Quynh in person, the introduction came with a knife between the ribs. She’d had dozens of deaths by then, but somehow that initial jolt of agony never got easier. Nile clawed at her, reaching for her gun, and she had a confused impression of eyes like chips of obsidian before the knife-point flicked up and a wash of red agony carried her down into blackness.

She woke up on Andy’s couch, with a decorative throw pillow under her head and an argument going on somewhere to her left.

“—completely stupid, and you know it,” Joe was saying loudly. “You should have told us.”

“It wasn’t your call to make.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Joe. Come on.” There was Nicky, keeping the peace as always. Or trying to, anyway. “Andy, how long has this been going on?”

“A while,” Andy said lightly. Nile opened her eyes, stared up at the ceiling for a minute, then levered herself upright, prodding carefully at the spot over her heart where the knife had gone in. The skin was whole, of course, but her blouse was ruined. “Nile’s back with us.”

“Yeah,” Nile said dryly. “I need to borrow a shirt. I didn’t come over today expecting to get stabbed.”

“In the closet on the left side of the bedroom.”

Andy didn’t even sound apologetic. Nile rolled her eyes and got off the couch to go down the hallway, making a mental note to send Andy an invoice for her ruined shirt. It had been like thirty bucks at some market stall in Guinea, but the turquoise color looked great on her, and anyway it was the principle of the thing.

The argument had died down by the time that she returned in one of Andy’s dark gray t-shirts, which she probably bought in three-packs at the local bag sale. Joe was scowling; Nicky looked exasperated, Andy bored.

“So that’s Quynh,” Nile said, like she hadn’t been dreaming of the woman’s face for the past decade and change.

“That’s Quynh,” Nicky agreed. “She’s been… visiting with Andy, apparently.”

“In between murder sprees,” Joe interjected. He still sounded pissed.

“We’ve been talking,” Andy allowed serenely.

“Okay,” Nile said. Reasonable, she was using her reasonable voice. “But how do you know she’s not going to kill you?”

“She doesn’t,” Joe said flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

Andy smiled up at them. She’d been letting her hair grow out in the past few years, and it was braided into a gray-streaked crown around her head. It should have made her look softer, but somehow the effect was the exact opposite: sharp-edged and fierce, like the warrior queen she had been in millennia past, the woman who’d been worshipped as a god. “You’re right. I don’t. But if anyone has the right, it’s her.”

“Andy—”

“I’ve loved her for more than two thousand years. If it were Nicky—” Nile saw Joe flinch, and Andy must have as well, but she didn’t stop. “If it were Nicky, what would you do?”

“Low blow, Andromache,” Nicky murmured, but the words held an edge of amusement.

“Damn you,” Joe said softly. He tugged a hand through his curls before letting it drop. “I would want to see him. To be with him, even if it meant my death.”

Nicky breathed out a sigh and moved closer, allowing Joe to lean against his hip. Nile ran a hand over her scalp, over the comforting bumps of her braids. “Jesus. Next time—” She saw Joe start to open his mouth, and cut him a look. There would be a next time. There wasn’t a single living soul who could make Andy do something she didn’t want to do, and Nile wasn’t about to waste her time trying. “Next time, warn us, huh? Unlike you people, I’m not quite blasé about a knife to the heart just yet.”

Andy didn’t apologize for that, but she did, eventually, incline her head. “Next time, I’ll warn you.”

Next time, Quynh breezed out of the loft like a queen with her head held high. She didn’t acknowledge Nile, but she didn’t stab her, either.

Three hundred years later, she’s hanging out in Nile’s kitchen drinking her tea. Immortality is a funny thing.

#the old guard #my fic

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autoclavesarchived · 5 years ago

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something akin to | the magnus archives (ao3)

summary: four conversations about love and death, and one that never happened. beginning scene inspired by @tatumsdrawing‘s comic!

“Would you kill me, Elias? If the Beholding demanded it of you?”

It’s asked placidly, curiously, without any particular inflection. There is a palpable dispassion to Peter’s tone that Elias does not think can be simulated. But perhaps he is just playing into what Peter wants him to think.

In any case, his answer is immediate and cruel. “Yes,” he says. “I would kill you. But I would make it quick. And lonely.”

“I suppose you would call that love,” Peter muses. He doesn’t seem alarmed at all by this response; he seems as if he’d expected it. It’s almost disconcerting how quickly Peter knows things, knows him, despite being the diametric opposite of whatever principles the Eye stands for.

It’s part of why Elias has kept him for so long.

Soon, though, this arrangement will have to come to an end. Peter Lukas must die, that is a certainty. But his death will be Elias’s, that is also a certainty. There is too much history between them for it to happen any other way. Making Peter Lukas’s unavoidable death painless and economical and Lonely is Elias’s burden; his duty of care. The knowledge of it pulsates inside his chest, shuddering like a fearful foreign object.

“I don’t love you.” Rebuttal makes his words harsh. They are a direct betrayal of what he’d been thinking just now.

Peter laughs unkindly. “Of course you do.”

“You don’t need me, Peter, far from it, and yet you keep crawling back. If anything, it’s the opposite.” Elias wraps his fingers around a frigid hand and drags it forward with a jolt. Peter’s arm jerks, a marionette on a string following the snap of his wrist. Once again reaching for Elias like an inexorable thing. In the moonlight, his wedding ring glints out an accusation.

“What does it say about you, then, that you keep taking me back without question?”

Peter wrenches his hand back, and this time, it is Elias’s own ring that is visible in the low light, a betrayal and a testimony both.

Elias kisses him then, a wretched filthy thing, mostly so Peter will not demand an answer from him. Not that Peter is particularly confrontational in these matters—his preferred method of petty conflict is that of the Lonely, which is to say, he takes a perverse delight in leaving, and knowing that Elias feels the acute ache of missing—but there is perhaps something to be said about how Elias himself does not want to linger on the matter.

He does not know what his actions say about him. He doubts it is anything good.

—

Elias feels loneliest when Peter is in his bed, even lonelier than when he inevitably wakes alone.

Even when Peter is there, it is as if he is not. That is what it means to be a servant of the Forsaken, he has grown to understand. To have an absence more meaningful than a presence.

“Do you love me?” Elias wonders, voice heavy with compulsion. It’s not the unerring exactitude he normally favors, but right now he has Peter sprawled naked on the bed underneath him. Now is not the time for precision tools—this particular compulsion feels like a blow to the head, and he has no scruples about the fact.

Peter only bites down on his lower lip, keeping his mouth stubbornly shut. The compulsion has dug in its hooks, but his resistance means it’s taking far too long, and Elias arches an eyebrow in displeasure. Another method, then. He snaps his hips downwards languidly; Peter lets out a groan like it’s being wrenched out of him, and his answer slinks out with the noise.

“Sometimes I hate you, instead.”

He’s always been too good at evasion. Another particular quirk of the Forsaken. They know how to slip past unnoticed.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Mmhm.” Peter runs his gaze up Elias’ chest, hands at his waist forcing him to settle into a cruelly slow rhythm.

“I could force it out of you, the real answer. I could set your mind on fire.”

“Of course you could.” It’s an empty threat and they both know it. They’ve been through every iteration that exists of this song and dance.

“No, your death will be less crude. I know exactly how you like it,” he continues. He bites into Peter’s mouth, the words only half-laced with innuendo.

Peter outright laughs at that. His hands come to rest on Elias’s hipbones and clamp down. There’ll be bruises later at this rate. “You once told me that I don’t need you. That’s not true, Elias,” Peter says, and his breaths come faster now. Elias redoubles his efforts. “I do need you.” The confession is ragged, gutted out of him faster than any compulsion can manage.

Elias snarls. His hand does something particularly punishing. “You do, do you?”

“Can’t live with you, can’t live without,” Peter spits. He’s arching so beautifully, so violently, under Elias’s touch. “And the only reason I say this is because you’re the same way. You need me.”

Elias slaps him then, quick and wicked, but Peter only starts grinning. The curve of it is an uncanny animal thing that eats at him, gnaws on his ribs like it’s trying to get to his heart. It says, I know you. I Know you.

“Does your beloved Eye tell you this?” His breath hitches one final time, and then he’s coming, but it doesn’t stop him from saying it again in that low, dreadful voice now punctuated with a choking cry—“You need me, Elias.”

That night, Elias feels particularly lonely. Peter has long since fallen asleep, so he simply stares at the small patterns on the ceiling and feels the emptiness spread through him like hunger pangs. He couldn’t quit the sensation if he tried.

—

Peter cradles his knife against Elias’s neck, a gesture loving in its tenderness. The sharpened blade just barely rests on the swell of his throat. A thin cold line and all that remains of their affection now. Or at least, during this part of the cycle. It’s a familiar routine, after all.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.” Peter’s teeth are bared and he says the words so roughly it almost jars him. Elias draws inwards in fits of real anger; Peter explodes out. Another contradiction, another betrayal to their respective patrons.

“You love me,” Elias murmurs. Peter’s rage is loud enough for the both of them.

“I don’t love. Or have you forgotten what my patron does to men?”

“Love and absence. Hatred and absence. They’re the same thing for us,” he says sharply. “Don’t be uninteresting.”

“A reason, Elias.” The point of the blade slides sideways to caress his jugular before it dips back to its original position, hovering. Cold metal on his throat. Cold metal on his left hand. Two different promises, or maybe the same one.

“I love you.”

Peter scoffs. He doesn’t even bother to respond to the remark.

Elias leans forward so that the knife digs into skin. The tiniest bit more pressure, and it would draw blood; a lesser man would call this a gesture of surrender. It’s like that that he deals the final blow.

“I would kill you, Peter,” he says very softly. It works just as well as an answer to Peter’s demand for a reason as it does an exposition to Elias’s earlier admission. “Who else would be left to do that if you killed me now?”

—

“Do you love him? Your Archivist?”

Elias has to think before responding. He draws out the silence like a poison, or a fine wine. “I wouldn’t kill him. I couldn’t bear to.” He can be evasive, too, given the right motivation. Even the truth is capable of being wrapped in pretty circumventions.

He can tell that had been the right answer by the way Peter hums and shifts on the bed. He Knows what’s coming.

As surely as predicted, like clockwork: “You should marry me again,” Peter says lazily. Triumphantly, now that he’d gotten Elias to admit his attachment to Jon, and more importantly, to admit that it was lesser than his attachment to Peter.

“Which number are we on now, seven?”

“Eight. If we’re counting the incident with the—”

“Yes, that. I don’t particularly care for a repeat.”

Elias thinks disdainfully back to their second marriage. That had been an unmitigated disaster; back before they’d really grasped the terms of this arrangement and learned to live with them. Afterwards, Peter had gone away for so long that he was nearly insubstantial when he came back. Just a mist-torn phantom haunting the doorways. Elias had proposed the next time, mostly to make him stay.

“Is that a yes, Elias?” A calloused palm runs over his wrist, without a fumble despite the lack of light in the room. Something cold and metal is placed into his hand—his ring, a solidly-made band only conspicuous in its absence. Peter doesn’t wait for his answer to slide it on. He supposes that they both already know what it’s going to be.

“Yes. God knows why.”

“Even vicious cycles have their moments.”

A pause. Elias feels their history unwind, spool its messy layers around them. It’s coming to an end, all of it. It must. For the briefest flash of a second, he thinks that if he could have loved Peter, he would.

“Until death do us part, then.”

They only ever have this conversation in the dark. Some things can only be said by the blind and the blinded.

—

The tide comes in roiling and colorless here.

This is not so much sea as much as it is marshland, as much as it is some hellish combination of the two. Elias knows better than to assign any human quality to an Entity, but for a moment he indulges himself in the thought that the Lonely is grieving. It certainly feels more feeble. Less tangible, even for a presence that thrives on the insubstantial. Perhaps the Archivist had dealt it a greater blow than previously expected—and that is certainly an interesting development, but it is not what Elias has come here for.

He walks steadily inwards. The Lonely calls out to him in desperation, begs to shroud his Eyes with fog. Elias brushes it off easily enough despite the howling emptiness it burdens him with upon retreating; he is used to loss, and even more so now.

When he finally reaches the place, there is nothing left of Peter Lukas to be found save some darker shreds of mist, Lonely and discontent. There is not even a scattering of bones bleached sea-dry by the tidewater. Not even a silvered wedding ring.

That is to be expected, of course.

Elias turns his back on the clearing, sharply. He’s seen the place. With his own physical eyes, even. He’s done what he’d come for, and he’s risking everything just by being here now.

He tells himself that he is only sorry he hadn’t been the one to finally end it. Peter’s death was meant to be Elias’s, because such devotion was the closest thing he could offer in the place of love. As he leaves, the lapping mist pulls at his sleeves as if tugging him back.

#the magnus archives #tma #lonelyeyes #elias bouchard #peter lukas #my fic

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b4kuch1n · 5 years ago

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23° off-kilter on the carpet

Here’s the ported version of the Sleep Deprivation Fic (actually most of my fics are sleep deprivation fics because of who I am as a person, but that’s beside the point) just to follow the principle that all of my stuff should have a post on this blog. As of this moment, only mildly proofread because I spotted errors and typos while refreshing the AO3 page repeatedly for an extended period of time.

In which Todd walks in on Dirk laying on the office’s floor, and things go mild from there.

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Read on AO3

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Dirk was on the floor when Todd arrived at the office.

Okay, it was less frightening than it sounded. All three of the office’s employees end up on the floor semi-frequently because things just happen to them now apparently, and Todd can count on one hand the amount of times it was anything actually serious. More bad things happen to them while they’re just out walking than when they lay down on the office’s floor, if he’s counting correctly and not just blacking out the terrible parts. It’s refreshing that there’s one thing in their life now that’s not lethal.

Well, that’s not really fair; their life isn’t that bad. It’s just weird. Todd doesn’t mind weird, he’s just deeply branded with being a normal asshole, and now being a weird helper feels… weird.

Anyway: yes, coming into the office to find one of your partners and friends on the floor would be alarming, if this weren’t Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, and the person on the floor weren’t Dirk, or he were in a more curled up position if it were still him. Dirk’s reactions to bad stimuli and pain, like his sense of style and his bounciness and anything good about him really, are hard-earned and curated, so he’s entitled to letting them run their course, so if he’s in physical pain Todd will get to know. They’ve had that worked out pretty early into their professional dealings. Dirk likes to have conversations, unless he doesn’t.

Todd has always thought Dirk is a straightforward person once one knows him. People never share his opinion on this, which is weirder than weird, because c’mon: it’s gonna take a lot of actual trying to outdo Todd when it comes to being terrible at people.

Anyway ; Dirk laying on the floor: not weird. Has happened before, in fact.

Todd checked the ceiling with a glance just to make sure nothing was tacked on there again (the ceiling was the usual blank cream), and then went to throw his laptop bag onto the couch. “We haven’t swept the floor in, uh, a week,” he said, just to throw it out there.

Dirk caught it. “Jackets can be dry cleaned.”

That was more curt than Todd’s used to.

He came to stand next to Dirk’s arm on the floor. “Sure, you do whatever with your clothes, but we should sweep the floor at least. It’s the,” he checked his phone, “17th.”

Dirk looked up at him with bleary eyes.

Todd sighed. “Look, I’m not— I couldn’t care less about dusty carpet, I’m not gonna lie to you, but I don’t wanna disappoint Farah. She’s gonna be tired when she comes back, and if we wanna make our celebration seems genuine we’re gonna have to take care of the minute details too.”

“Like dusty carpets,” Dirk mumbled.

“Yeah,” Todd confirmed, crossing his arms in a valiant effort to mimic even a corner of Farah’s authority.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Dirk looked away and muttered, “Day’s still long.”

Todd sat down on the floor. He made a face as he lifted the hand he used to support himself on the way down. “Wow— okay, it’s dustier than I thought. It’s like— did we even sweep up after the Buzzer? We didn’t. Of course we forgot. Yeah, so… that’s not just seven days of normal dust—”

“Please just… give me a minute,” Dirk cut him off, with a noticeable effort to be louder this time, and Todd took a deep breath and looked at him, carefully. His limbs were spread out and stiff, like a straw figure’s. His jacket was slightly damp, and his tie seemed to have flopped into its current, crumpled position when he laid down. He didn’t even move his head when he talked to Todd just then.

Todd laid down next to Dirk.

They stayed like that for a minute, then Dirk asked, “Why are you on the floor?”

“I’m giving you a minute,” Todd mumbled. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Feels like the right amount of impact on my senses,” Dirk replied. “Last time this happened I also laid on the floor, and afterwards the stupid thoughts went away, so I elected to repeat the conditions this time around. Science.”

That didn’t sound entirely right, but Todd dropped out of college to play guitar for an alt band, so. “What’s the thoughts?”

“Alright, on review, calling them ‘thoughts’ isn’t very correct, or useful to the conversation. They’re more… feelings. Multiple, numerous, of unidentified frequency, and not lending well to words and sentences.”

“Okay,” Todd said, “that’s definitely a not-truth at some level.”

Dirk blew a frustrated breath. “Can’t we let it be? I’m laying on the floor staring at the ceiling. This solution has no hole. The thoughts will go away in a few minutes.”

Todd let the silence drop for a few seconds there, and then said, as calmly as he could ever be, “But they came back though.”

They laid there on the ground for another minute as the silence covered them; Todd glued his eyes to the cream ceiling, resolute to not look at Dirk. He could feel Dirk move his arm, and the deep breaths Dirk took. He focused on regulating his own breathing as well; he tends to forget to inhale around Dirk.

“I don’t feel like a man today,” Dirk said, after the silence was thick enough they could float up to its surface.

Todd didn’t expect that; he whipped his head over to look at Dirk. Dirk had an arm over his eyes, but the rest of him was maybe even more still than before he spoke. He was expecting a reaction of some kind to his statement, which— okay, that’s how conversations happen, you say something and the other person reacts and you react to that. ‘Twas just that Dirk seemed to be gearing himself up to something negative, which Todd… didn’t know where to land himself with. He wasn’t sure if Dirk knew either.

One of the conversations Dirk wasn’t thrilled about, then.

Todd decided to start slow. “Okay, is that a… gender statement, a mood statement, or…?”

“Mostly gender,” Dirk said immediately, as if he feared Todd would retract the buoy if he didn’t latch onto it fast enough. “I just… sometimes I will feel intensely not like a man. Not in the way that means I’m inadequate to be one, just that I’m not one? It is usually less intense than that, I can just ignore it, but every once in a while it will morph into almost an urge to… rewrite myself. To reshape everyone’s perception of me. Even if it means…”

Todd cleared his throat when Dirk trailed off and didn’t seem to know how to pick the thread up again. “What’s it mean?”

“I... “ Dirk swallowed. “Even if it means I’m not human.”

Todd took a few seconds to process that. Once it was halfway swallowed and he had about two fingers of his brain under his control again, he pushed himself up into a sitting position to stare at Dirk.

“Okay, that’s— I’m not--” He gestured like a halfway stringed marionette, and then dropped his arm uselessly down to his side when that didn’t clear anything up. “Can you— just. Walk me through it.”

Dirk removed the arm he had on his eyes to squint at him.

Todd brought both of his hands up again. “Dirk, you— that’s the least weird thing about you. Or anything. I can say that because this past year has been weird as all fuck, and I can say that because the thirty-two years before it were the exact opposite. Literally after all the shit that happened to us, that’s nothing. Well it’s not, it’s— it’s important to you, so it’s important to me too, and knowing it will change things, I’m sorry I said it’s nothing, it’s that it’s— not weird. ‘S just not.”

“I’m a tiny bit hurt, thank you, apology accepted,” Dirk said, and his eyes were tracking Todd’s motions now, okay, “and that’s not. Well, it is a part of the point, but also I’m… not normal, am I.”

“Uh,” Todd said.

“On many levels. Most people don’t experience the things I do, and really, I haven’t met another person of my same profession. Which is because it is a unique position required by the Universe so as It could move Its pieces around, which I am fine with, I could get used to the excitement, but something… Maybe.” Dirk swallowed. “Can it be too much?”

“I don’t— I don’t get it.”

“I’m tailored to a purpose,” Dirk said, and once again he was staring at the ceiling. “A lot of the things I feel are already pumped into me by that. At some point it will dictate whether something about me is necessary or not, and I just… I’m not sure where that point is.”

Todd could only do more staring while Dirk barreled on with his thoughts to where they were supposed to end up.

“Maybe it’s already crossed that point,” Dirk said. “Maybe I’m just a tool to be used.”

“That’s the Blackwing speaking,” Todd said, a bit too hastily, but he felt he needed to. Dirk just exhaled wearily.

“I know. But they haven’t been wrong about everything…”

“Dirk,” Todd said, more firmly this time. Dirk looked at him. “They don’t even understand how your thing works. They’re terrible at what they do. You don’t— you’ve lived that firsthand, I don’t even have to tell you all this.”

It was his turn to take a deep breath now, as he looked at Dirk and Dirk looked back.

“You showed me weird,” he continued. “The world is fucking weird. Time travel is real, soul is extractable, there’s an eighty-year-old child making whole dimensions with a wave of his hand, my sister’s a witch travelling with energy vampires, I’m sitting here on this dusty as fuck floor talking to you. A year ago I couldn’t even imagine doing that for anyone other than Amanda. We became friends, Dirk. All of that happened.”

He grabbed Dirk’s hand.

“You’re human. You’re both human and not-a-man, that’s about par-for-the-course with how weird this shit all is. Honestly, even a bit subpar.”

“I cannot be spectacularly explosive and entertaining in all areas,” Dirk said. There was a wobbly smile on his lips. Todd let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “There has to be some specialization happening somewhere.”

He sat up, a bit shaky, and Todd tugged on his hand. He initiated the hug. Todd couldn’t say he didn’t lean into it; things had been tense for a moment.

“Thanks for coming out to me, by the way,” he said, just to not be an asshole. “It’s really good to know.”

“It’s about time for it to happen,” Dirk shrugged into the hug. “It’s been one year already.”

Todd smiled. “Happy one year of doing this, huh.”

“Happy one year of doing this.”

“We should sweep the floor”.

#Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #dghda #dirk gently #todd brotzman #fanfiction #hey its the nonbinary dirk fic I posted the AO3 post for yesterday #gen. again because of who I am as a person.#I could write romance but judging by how that' went in the past Ive elected to spare the boys #trust me. read blossom hills.#anyways coming out; communication; sitting on the floor; all the stuff I hold near and dear to me #its loving your friend hour everyone #now I have to do french homework for the brother #have a good one stay tuned for other things coming in a day or two

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owlswithfins · 7 years ago

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A Justification of Drarry

Here’s a fairly extensive compilation of Drarry ‘evidence’ (it got kind of lengthy so the rest is below the cut) <3

I’ve been an avid Drarry shipper for almost as long as I’ve been a Harry Potter fan, and I’ve noticed that deep within the fandom, everyone seems to agree that it’s a Legit Ship. It tops the charts of AO3 and Wattpad and comes in as a close second on FF, and most people on tumblr accept it as plausible even if they aren’t die hard fans. Outside of this black hole we’ve all been sucked into, however, I’ve been yanked into heated debates about the legitimacy of Drarry.

Of course, this is often because some people are only interested in canon ships or don’t ship slash. For others, it’s just not their cup of tea. This post isn’t meant to convert the above naysayers, especially since, like I said, most of us here don’t need to be converted. This is more of a toolkit of evidence and arguments to justify your love of Drarry to people who “just don’t understand” or think “you just want every character to be gay” or that “you’re reading into things too much”.

Sometimes the best response is the always faithful “fuck you, I ship what I like” or the slightly more intellectual “I subscribe to the Mark Twain quote ‘never regret anything that made you smile’ and Drarry is my one true joy in this life so shut the hell up”. Other times, these debates get derailed quickly and leave Drarry shippers feeling like “maybe we got it wrong this whole time?” which is not a Great Feeling.

As such, I’ve compiled what’s essentially a shit ton of ammo from various sources to cite in these situations. Feel free to use it as you like, whether that be fortifying your own belief in this beautiful ship or passing out flyers door-to-door like a Drarry missionary. Now, we have seven books, eight movies, and bucket loads of interpretations to get through, so this could easily become a certified mess (and I’m not even going to go into every piece of evidence). As such, I’m placing the rest of the content below the cut, organized by objections and their counter-arguments to keep things nice and neat. On that note, lets begin.

One of the most common objections I hear is that Drarry isn’t legitimate because Harry is straight. Now, for some of us, this is irrelevant, since we ship based on the potential a pairing offers instead of requiring canonical pining (not that it isn’t there--it is--trust me, we’ll get to that), but for others, this is a critical point of concern. I would like to start by asking, who says Harry is straight? (please click here for some strategically placed self-promotion and on-topic humor)

To start, Cedric Diggory. (I’m talking about the angelically pure pre-Cursed-Child Hufflepuff god, not Cedric I-was-so-embarrassed-I-became-a-Death-Eater-and-murdered-my-friends Diggory, to be clear). If the mere name isn’t evidence enough, allow me to jog your memory:

“Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen.” (GoF)

And also:

“Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and grey eyes.” (GoF)

And for those of you who aren’t yet convinced:

“‘You just weren’t concentrating properly--’

‘Wonder why that was,’ said Harry darkly as Cedric Diggory walked past.” (GoF)

PURE GOLD. Harry be like, “No homo, but when Diggory walks by I can’t concentrate. I just have this intense urge to comment on his extremely handsome face”. I think we can safely say that Harry is, at the very least, bicurious. I’d even go so far as to say he was never really all that into girls at all. Sure, he had a thing for Cho, but he didn’t exactly come back with the most resounding commentary.

“‘Well?’ Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. ‘How was it?’

Harry considered it for a moment. ‘Wet,’ he said truthfully.” (OotP)

And yes, there was Ginny, but in HBP there were multiple scenarios when Harry was far more interested in Draco than whatever Ginny had to offer.

"'And even better than that -- Malfoy's gone off sick too!'

'What?" said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. 'He's ill? What's wrong with him?'

'No idea, but it's great for us,' said Ginny brightly. 'They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot.'

Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch.

Maybe it’s just me, but in my experience, people generally don’t obsess over people they hate when they have the opportunity to spend time with their crush. So maybe Harry is straight (I doubt it) but I think we at least have a case for reasonable doubt. As such, the sexuality objection has been shot down.

The next common point of opposition is that Drarry shippers are just “making it up” without any basis in canon. To counter this, we could go through every book and sort out exactly which lines serve as evidence, but that would take far more time than I have on my hands. Instead, let’s do a basic overview.

The course of their entire relationship is based on their first two meetings. In Madam Malkin’s, Harry started to associate Draco with Dudley, and this snap judgment caused him to choose Ron, his first friend, over Draco. Of course, Harry’s loyalty is part of why we love him, but this totally brushes aside Draco’s point of view.

For Draco, this was his first experience with someone outside of his parent’s rigid pureblood circle. He’d been taught that bragging and insulting “inferior” people were the ways to impress and make friends, so he did exactly that. And, likely also for the first time, Draco was rejected. Coming from a place of privilege, this rejection was heartbreaking, and by turning down his handshake, Harry cemented Draco’s future. Instead of benefiting from each others’ knowledge and principles, they became enemies.

Draco was, to Harry, a mere annoyance in the way of the bigger problems during the first five years at Hogwarts. At this point, I think it’s safe to say Harry felt nothing more than an irritation for Draco Malfoy, as one would feel about a particularly determined pest. Draco, on the other hand, saw Harry as his number one priority. His bullying focused on Harry because their feud was personal, unlike the more casual bullying Draco partook in regularly. His issues with Ron and Hermione were likewise based on Harry--Ron was the friend Harry chose over Draco, and Hermione was a Muggleborn, yet she became friends with Harry when Draco couldn’t.

Draco spent a ridiculous amount of time tormenting the Golden Boy, from climbing a tree for taunting purposes to making the ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons to joining of the Inquisitorial Squad just to get back at Harry. Now, I’m not going to go and say these things meant Draco was secretly in love with Harry the whole time (I’m also not going to say he wasn’t). Rather, this one-sided enmity was grade school pigtail pulling at best and full-blown obsession at worst.

Of course, Draco wasn’t the only one to become obsessed. Throughout the entire series, the two had an almost uncanny ability to sense each other, from Draco recognizing Harry based on his breathing to Harry being able to tell what expression Draco made purely by his tone. Even so, it wasn’t obsession on Harry’s end...until HBP. I mean, honestly, the bi who lived got it so bad his sixth year that even Ron was tired of hearing it:

"'Can you think of any way Malfoy--?'

'Oh, drop it, Harry,' said Ron." (HBP)

Let’s not forget when the weariness turned to full on ignoring:

"'Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,' said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory." (HBP)

And ah, the Marauder’s Map. Harry’s obsession with watching Draco’s name was especially notable in this book--even more so given JKR’s comment that Harry watching Ginny’s name in DH was a sign that he was in love with her. Let’s take a look, shall we?

"Despite his determination to catch Malfoy out, Harry had no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consulted the map as often as he could, sometimes making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he did not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious." (HBP)

And, of course, JKR’s most precious gift to us:

"Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy." (HBP)

While the first five years were rife with Draco’s antics and Harry’s relative apathy, the moment Draco stopped giving Harry his undying attention, the tables turned. Harry had grown so used to his frequent encounters with Draco that he couldn’t stand the thought of being ignored, or *gasp*, the idea that Draco might actually have more important things to do than fight with him all the time.

This was also an interesting time because Draco finally experienced true darkness. Whereas Harry had been exposed to harsh reality as a young child, Draco was relatively removed from it all. Sixth year was when Draco caught up with Harry maturity-wise. Suddenly, he understood the truth of what his family stood for and who Voldemort was, and he was trapped, just like Harry was on the light side. It was the first time Harry began to see Draco as something more than a petty annoyance because it was really the first time Draco had been more than a petty annoyance.

We’ll visit the bathroom scene and the events of DH in the next section (Salazar, don’t even get me started on the wand thing), but even without those significant moments, it’s becoming clear that Harry and Draco have a lot of potential. They’re interconnected in an obsessive way that seems more extensive than that of normal enemies, and it’s no longer a one-sided affair.

The next objection I come across fairly frequently is the ever-present “but they hate each other!” My response to this is...nah, they don’t. Not really.

To start, most of their fighting was either simple childhood rivalry or all talk. Even when things escalated, they didn’t truly want to hurt each other. In many cases, they actually saved each other.

Remember in HBP when Draco petrified Harry and tried to send him back on the train? This could be seen as a simple “I hate you so I don’t want you at school”, but that’s inconsistent with Draco’s character thus far, given that his Hogwarts days practically revolved around tormenting Harry. Why send away your favorite toy? Perhaps this is stretching too far, but I’m not the only one who thinks that, just maybe, Draco did it to protect Harry.

To fully understand this theory, we have to go back to second year. In CoS, Dobby came to Harry with an abundance of praise, despite living in the Malfoy house, where the defeater of the Dark Lord was likely only spoken about negatively. Where did Dobby get his positive opinion of Harry Potter then? Ahem. May I direct you to...

"’everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick--’

‘You have told me this at least a dozen times already,’ said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son.” (CoS)

Draco’s so-called ‘taunts’ sound quite a lot like compliments in disguise, and Dobby’s so-called ‘rescuing’ of Harry looked quite a lot like Draco’s train charade in HBP. To keep Harry safe, Dobby went through elaborate efforts to keep him from coming back to Hogwarts. Then in sixth year when Draco was aware that Death Eaters would soon run amuck in the school, he tried to send Harry away from Hogwarts on the train, almost as if he was trying to protect him.

Of course, that’s mostly theorizing, and some of you might not be convinced, but don’t worry. We’ve got a lot of explicit demonstrations of non-hate (for lack of a better term) as well. Take, for instance, the bathroom scene. It’s hard to tell if Draco would have been able to perform the Cruciatus curse if Harry had let him finish so we won’t talk about that, but Harry’s sectumsempra was a Big Moment in the Drarry world.

“'SECTUMSEMPRA!' bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand. 'No --' gasped Harry. Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. 'No -- I didn't --' (HBP)

As soon as the feud between them began to get real, Harry felt immense guilt and regret. It was one thing for them to taunt each other and fight, but as soon as he realized he’d caused true pain, he started backtracking. While his real enemies were finally starting to cross over to the okay-to-kill list, Draco was still firmly in the safe zone.

Later in HBP, we see another example of Harry’s non-hate. When Draco is about to kill Dumbledore in the tower, Harry watches as he lowers his wand. When Dumbledore dies, Harry doesn’t go after Malfoy--he goes after Snape. A lot of things were happening at once, but even in this moment when he was finally proved right about Draco’s activities, there was some part of him that didn’t blame Draco for what happened. He’d finally seen him become human during the bathroom scene, and he watched Draco’s wand “drop by a fraction”, so he knew the Slytherin wasn’t a murderer. If Snape hadn’t stepped in, Draco might have even switched over to the light. If Snape hadn’t stepped in, Dumbledore wouldn’t be dead. When he catches up to the two, he fires his curse at Snape, not Draco, again suggesting something other than hate.

While guilt is a passive emotion--making the bathroom scene a “hindsight’s 20/20” moment--and the climax of HBP was more of an internal shift, in DH we see their non-hate become more intentional.

“‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’

‘I can’t--I can’t be sure,’ said Draco.” (DH)

In Chapter 23 of DH, Draco risked his life to save Harry. Some people have criticised that he should have given a solid “no” if he really cared about saving Harry, but uncertainty was the only thing that kept Harry alive. If Draco had given them a negative, they would have killed him anyways. It was only the possibility that he might be Harry Potter that allowed him to live long enough to escape.

Harry later returned the favor when he saved Draco from the Fiendfyre.

“‘It’s – too – dangerous – !’ Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air. His glasses giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke, he raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood. . . . And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks, and Harry dived.” (DH)

Even though it would have been easier to let Draco die--even when Ron all but told him to leave Draco to burn--Harry saved him. By this point, both of them had risked their lives to save the other, and I think it’s fair to say that, whatever’s between them, it isn’t hatred.

That leaves us with the final objection I’m going to discuss in this post (essay?): the argument that Harry and Draco just aren’t right for each other. This one, while seemingly simple, has a lot of analysis to work through, and it’s also the one that separates Drarry from other popular ships in the fandom.

To start, they challenge each other in a way no one else can. Whereas Ginny grew up idolizing Harry, Draco spent those years sneering at the Golden Boy for his fame. Harry, who never wanted to be anything more than “just Harry”, needs someone like this in his life. He needs someone to see him as he is without his titles. Someone who hates his fame as much as he does. Someone who won’t let him get away with things just because he’s the Savior, and won’t confuse childhood awe with true feelings.

Likewise, Harry challenges Draco by meeting his prejudices and bigotry with full force. I don’t think Draco ever really did anything evil enough to need redemption as many fans seem to think (since, like we discussed earlier in this post, he was just a kid being taught his parents’ values, and as soon as the reality of the war hit, he was no longer on board), but he does need to understand the pain he inflicted through his bullying and be corrected in his misinformation. Draco’s ignorant blood purist comments would piss Harry off and inspire lengthy lectures (that you know Draco would profess to hate but secretly grow to agree with) which would help him become a good person when he wasn’t in the past.

In that same vein, Draco’s influence would help Harry find balance. Throughout the series, house rivalries shaped Harry’s point of view to the point where he barely thought of Slytherins as human. He repressed his dark traits, like Parseltongue, out of fear, and he pushed people away when unity could have altered the course of the war for the better. Of course, none of us can blame him for this, since his experience with Slytherins warranted such beliefs (most of the Slytherins in his life caused far more harm than good to him and his friends), but these beliefs are also part of what gave Voldemort so much power over him. By seeing Draco’s humanity and experiencing his love of the dark arts, Harry could begin to heal from his own deeply-ingrained prejudices and find acceptance of all parts of himself.

Beyond the value they’d bring to each other, let’s talk about this from a story perspective. It all comes down to the fact that they’re two sides of the same coin (cliche, but it sums up their relationship more accurately than anything else). Both of them were poster children for their respective sides, but while Harry was taken in by Mrs. Weasley and used by Dumbledore, Draco was raised by Lucius and made into a pawn by Voldemort. No matter how their paths veered, they always came back to each other in the end, so of all the people to end up together, the two who are constantly paired in every situation make the most sense out of anyone. When you really start to look at it, Drarry seems downright inevitable. The two were pitted against each other from the start, but that’s part of what makes their eventual unity so appealing. In a story about rifts and prejudice, light and dark, their pairing rights wrongs and signals a shift towards a better future. In the end, Drarry isn’t a superficial pairing at all. It’s the ultimate resolution.

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laughingpinecone · 5 years ago

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Chocobox 2020 letter!

I am laughingpineapple on AO3

It’s a long list of character combos so the specific requests aren’t overly detailed, please draw at will from my general likes and general fandom likes in addition or as an alternative to any of those!

All requests are art or fic - for art, the stuff I like is the kind that depicts the characters doing something. I’ll always be happier with a very simple drawing of two characters walking together or sharing a cup of coffee than with an ambitious composition that looks like an Avengers poster. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s).

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships)

Cool with: any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay), canon retellings, consent issues

Ghost Trick

I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Exploring the ghost lore is great. All what-ifs welcome (what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if a different party went back to the past and kept their memories, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around…) Also open to AUs here, especially for generic fantasy or sci-fi settings or the Final Fantasy ones I prompted last Yuletide .

For the non-canon sides of Jowd/Alma/Cabanela, please no infidelity? I’d be good with either setting the fic during the game timeline or some what-if thereof when the other spouse is dead or unavailable, or simply keeping them offscreen and not mentioning them (eg Alma/Cabanela beach day, Jowd/Cabanela precinct shenanigans)

For Jowd in general, I do love my big boy and enjoy milking that size difference for all it’s worth. In gen contexts too, it’s neat. him big.

Alma/Jowd & Cabanela: Sleepover time! In whose house and why? What’s a Best Friend (tm) thing to do?

Alma & Cabanela: what’s a moment just for them, how are they aligned? How are they both changed by the tale of the other timeline?

Alma/Cabanela: ghost Alma joins up with Cabanela! ...and doesn’t remember the details of her murder or it’s gonna be a very short investigation, but anyway. Bittersweet ghost romance?

Alma/Cabanela/Jowd: please give me a completely smitten Cabs who spent so long pining and can’t believe it’s happening for real (even if it’s been happening for like, two months already?)

Alma/Jowd: how’d Jowd’s strength come in useful that one time?

Alma & Sissel: plot twist, she saves him. Did he misplace his body? Miscalculate some core jump?

Cabanela & Bailey: unexpected dance partners? Cabanela is harsh toward his subordinates but maybe not so much outside work?

Cabanela & Memry: extremely unconventional mentor & pupil let loose on the town like two horrible geese

Cabanela & Missile: what will get these two exhausted?

Cabanela & Jowd: all the devotion, please! Maybe coming from Jowd as well for a change

Cabanela & Pigeon Man: new timeline friendship? PM is a magnificent Cabanela wrangler, I think, reining in the whitecoat excesses...

Cabanela & Sissel: out-noiring each other, Sissel having the time of his life following Cabanela in an investigation

Cabanela/Jowd: hurried confessions outside the prison? Jowd figuring out he reciprocates right then and there or later on? How much later? What’s his favorite thing about Cabanela and vice versa?

Jowd & Emma: I don’t want to undercut her idealism and sound moral principles in doing what she did simply to take a stand against the death penalty, but did they know each other maybe? Or does Jowd reach out afterwards, curious about this woman? ...do they collab?

Jowd & Pigeon Man: I wanna see how they get along... a tiny snippet of a case? What Are Pigeons If Not Small Chickens After All?

Jowd & Yomiel & Sissel: Sissel has two dads. That’s just how it is.

Jowd & Yomiel: Postcanon bonding with total human disaster Yomiel leaning on Jowd like a cat and Jowd being also a human disaster but like more dad-shaped?

Kamila & Pigeon Man: (overriding the “focus on children” DNW) adopted uncle doubles as science mentor!

Kentucky Route Zero

(Should Act V come out between the end of nominations and reveals, I’ll be playing it immediately and I’ll probably add a few thoughts and prompts here for kicks, at the end of this section, after a spoiler warning. Obviously feel free to stick to canon up to Un Pueblo De Nada regardless.)

I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I generally love AUs so if you want to sidestep the inconvenience of an incomplete canon that way, be my guest! Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Were the requested characters part of it, what were their digital counterparts up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! I’d also love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Lula getting ideas for a new installation, or an article talking about her work? Donald listening to Static between stations somehow (Donald being constantly high as a kite as per this)? Joseph who went back to the surface finds himself near an entrance to the Zero somewhere? A collection of Weaver-isms? Sad surreal bureaucracy? Feel free to bring in anyone else from any part of canon.

Cate & Will: a small, chill adventure on a new island? Extensive mushroom lore?

Joseph Wheattree/Lula Chamberlain/Donald: the disaster concave love polygon in all its glorious doom... does even Xanadu contain a single hope for them? I’m fascinated by alternative developments in which they all stayed underground and explored further, sprinkled with subterranean symbolism at will

Junebug & Lula Chamberlain: something something art! Something something we live in a society, too. Idk I’m intrigued by their strong personalities and how they might clash, Junebug’s abrasiveness and Lula’s resigned bitterness

Weaver Márquez & Donald: she was down there! They are both very bizarre individuals! How’d that go!

Will & Donald: ...conversely, as far as we know Will was not down there but Will knows everyone. So how’d they get to know each other? What’s the Bureau of Secret Tourism’s take on the Hall of the Mountain King?

Pyre

The burning found family feelings, the revolutionary passion, the tension between topside social constraints and the kind of freedom allowed by the Downside! I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I adore everyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to add a Nightwing or two to any prompt, please do! I also love all the Scribes and find Erisa a compelling tragic figure, while out of the other triumvirates, I’m “love to hate them” for Manley, Brighton, Udmildhe and Deluge and would not like to see them featured in sympathetic roles. My main interest usually lies in post-canon exploration when applicable, but I’m also into various adventures during canon. Pick a location or a place outside the map and see what happens? As for the ending variables, I’d ask for a peaceful revolution and Oralech alive, but no preferences on who’s up or down, pick whatever works best for any given plot bunny.

Big Bertrude & Volfred Sandalwood: “people who were close in the Commonwealth find each other in the Downside” is always a gr8 thing to explore and I’d love it for them! Epistolary friendship if they end up separated?

Big Bertrude/Pamitha Theyn: sneaky, reserved kindred spirits. Their shared ending is great and I’d love to see it expanded. Bertrude’s attitude being thorny in a way that’s just what Pam needs to allow herself to open up... also: snake kisses.

Celeste | The Gate Guardian & Oralech: he let him through when the and they waited for the Nightwings... did they exchange a few words there? Or do they meet again somehow, in the Union or among the stars?

Celeste | The Gate Guardian & Sandra the Unseeing & Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: the three people who were there when the Scribes walked the earth and who have opposite opinions on the matter. I’d like to see their views clash, either when they were young or during game events

Molten Milithe & The Vagabond Girl: I imagine ae (I called her Tae but no strong feelings on this front) might have different relationships with the different Scribes, so what’s the one with the Wild Witch? What was she going through at a time when she felt her close?

Oralech & Big Bertrude: Bertrude’s protectiveness toward Volfred could be fun to explore here, both in the old Nightwings’ time and postcanon. Volfred aside, they’re a baby revolutionary and a grizzled agitator, which sounds like fun!

Oralech & Pamitha Theyn: idk I just want to throw Oralech at various Nightwings and see if he can make some friends. He and Pam look complicated enough to stand each other.

Oralech/Volfred Sandalwood: I am mainly interested in postcanon reunion, or postcanon established relationship. Getting to know each other again. Oralech figuring out that Volfred’s puffing up in formal meetings because he’s super nervous about all these responsibilities. Seeing what their dream looks like

Oralech/Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: Volfred has two hands, and sometimes miracles happen twice? How do they balance each other, what’s the Oralech/Tariq side like and what’s Volfred’s perspective on it? Is Tariq a constant part of their lives or does he fade in and out?

Pamitha Theyn & Ti'zo: flying buddies! He’s a simple soul and she is very much not, but he’s also ancient and has seen heartbreak like hers over and over...

Rukey Greentail & Volfred Sandalwood: on pragmatism. I feel like these two could come to a mutual understanding in their own way.

Oralech & Sir Gilman: is there any way that this won’t end in a demonstration on how to perform a nautical knot with a wyrm?

Tariq & Ti'zo: the great gossiping duo. All the juciest skreeches. There are also a few occasions when Tariq says something about the imps while he blatantly means himself, and I’d like to know what Ti’zo thinks of this projection.

Tariq | The Lone Minstrel & Big Bertrude: he knows how to handle her, and she should know how to appreciate a slightly eldritch creation (?) of the Scribes...

Volfred Sandalwood & Hedwyn: in Oralech’s own words to Hedwyn, Volfred probably picked Hedwyn as an Oralech replacement. Does this change Hedwyn’s opinions on Volfred and the plan? Was it a conscious choice on Volfred’s part? Or how do they get along in general?

Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: “both think the other is the bee’s knees and possibly out of their league” is catnip to me. I’d say it’s understandable from Volfred while Tariq is just super smitten (and struggling with his own sense of identity and desires, sure. but also smitten). So I think it’d be fun for Volfred to be somewhat out of his depth for once and try to be close to/console Tariq for whatever reason?

The Last Remnant

I’m very interested in post-game exploration, and getting a clearer feeling of any of the cities and assorted places that populate this fascinating world. I like the whole party with their characterization based on battle quotes, red bubble dialogues, and even their unique stat (‘authority’ is a natural fit for David but ‘romance’ tells me something new about Sibal!) Character interaction. Bit of worldbuilding. What’s another festival they celebrate? Do they erect something else instead of the Valeria Heart? Any fun discoveries down in Siebenbur? Where the hell IS Veyriel, anyway, do they go look for it and if so what do they find out? End of an age. Old bonds.

David Nassau & Torgal & Allan: catfight with mediator. Torgal has two h... Torgal has four hands actually and I’m very interested in his very positive relationship with David and his disastrous one with Allan. It’d be fun if these two aspects of his life came together, like a platonic V

Emmy Honeywell & Pagus: Emmy just ended up short a parental figure and the oldest and chillest of the four generals is right there?

Pagus/Maddox/Sibal: give me all the Qsiti worldbuilding, Siebenbur worldbuilding, Remnant daydreaming, shared backstory, old men reunions after the ending…

Twin Peaks

Case fic but they don’t find out jack shit, someone disappears, David Bowie was there, it’s complicated. Fragmented, shifted, mirrored identities. New Lodge spaces. The risks of staring into the void for too long. Gentle illusions. Transcendence. The moon. Static buzzing. Any title from the s3 ethereal whooshing compilation used as a prompt, actually. Twin Peaks is all about the mystery to me, the awe of mystery and unknowability and the human drive to look beyond and the risks of getting a peek, and about shared consciousness and trauma taking physical form in an uncaring world. Go wild with the ethereal whooshing! But I also love the human warmth at the heart of it all, and sometimes it’s enough to anchor these characters and let them have a nice day. A fic entirely focused on some instance of coziness against the cold chaotic background of canon would be great too.

Canon-specific DNWs: any singular Dreamer being the ‘source’ of canon, BOB (let alone Judy) being forever defeated in the finale, Judy being an active malevolent presence in the characters’ lives, clear explanations for canonical ambiguities, ‘Odessaverse’ being the reality layer, the Fireman’s House by the Sea being the White Lodge, anything that 4 hours Twin Perfect video says is the explanation of Twin Peaks

Albert Rosenfield & Constance Talbot: city mouse and country mouse? What’s their long-distance friendship like and what’s an occasion for them to meet? What’s her position in the symbolic spread of blue rose and blue rose-adjacent disasters/hopes for the future?

Audrey Horne & Diane Evans: Weird postcanon encounters? Can Diane lend a hand when Coop most certainly could not? They are hardened in different ways; we know Audrey has a precious dreaminess underneath that mess, what about Diane?

Chet Desmond & Albert Rosenfield: punchy&pacifist sounds like a recipe for disaster but their directness makes me think that they’d get along great?

Chet Desmond/Sam Stanley: reunion fic! Chet’s been AWOL for years, Sam has fallen through the cracks, how do they find each other again and why do they choose to remain off the grid? I would also like to read about them in the present day-ish, handwaving the return and reunion. Maybe they made a new life for themselves. If Sutherland were to play Sam again, Sam would be… notably more buff. What caused that change, was it traveling with Chet, what kind of person is he now? Could they be in Buenos Aires, investigating on their own whatever that shrinking box was?

Constance Talbot/Diane Evans: when the show was airing we used to joke that the various plots converging on Buckhorn were actually a race to woo the absolute jewel that is Constance. Cynthia got there first but Diane knows how to flirt! We have a whole week and a whole town...

Cynthia Knox/Tamara "Tammy" Preston: the FBI and USAF supernatural branches meet again after Douglas Milford’s times... what’s their attitude toward it (who’s the Mulder and who’s the Scully......), in what ways does their respective task force’s past inform their views, is there more hope for a new generation who saw the trauma of the past without living it firsthand? LET TAMMY KISS ALL THE GIRLS BUT THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR

Dale Cooper/Albert Rosenfield: fiery early days? Dream meetings that Albert will inevitably write off as a product of his aching subconscious? Post-finale where Albert has made his peace with Coop not being part of this world and not even deigning to greet him, except one day Coop is back - with apologies? Post-post-finale where they’re peacefully living out their days as best as they can?

Dale Cooper/Harry Truman: Harry seeing his Coop again… somewhere, somehow. Maybe he perceives him in the woods, maybe Coop isn’t all human now. Monster cuddles very welcome. Could be canon divergence but could very well be post-s3. Harry getting closure for waiting all that time in front of Glastonbury and never giving up on Coop… they can live in the woods together…

Albert Rosenfield/Harry Truman: did they tragically fall into each other’s arms in the wake of Coop’s disappearance? Did they realize they’re so good for each other, but neither of them was willing to give up their life? And/or was the wound of Coop’s disappearance too fresh for them to try to heal? Do they keep in touch throughout the years? Does Albert resign on the spot with a resounding fuck it after the s3 finale and rush to see Harry? Does he stay this time?

Dale Cooper/Albert Rosenfield/Harry Truman: basically the sum of the three sides of this triad… give them peace, given them nice things, give them so much love… Coop finding his place in the world and making up for lost time… give time to these old wounds…

Diane Evans & Albert Rosenfield: any ol’ night drinking together, or ending up in some liminal place much to Albert’s chagrin (and Diane’s as well...?)? I just love their bond and want to see more of it. At any point during their shared history and even after the finale!

Donna Hayward & Audrey Horne: the half sisters meeting again please? And finding a new balance between them, different from what it would’ve been when they were young when they never got a chance to discover it...

Gordon Cole/Phillip Jeffries: does Gordon eventually manage to throw himself into the void (that’s one way of considering a retirement plan!) and reach Phillip? What’s left inside that teapot alembic, or is he the smoke? How did Gordon even get word from Phil - in his pt17 infodump, he seems perfectly aware of the other’s status - what kind of contact have they kept? I love all the fanon I’ve seen for them, if you want to lean into it.

Harry Truman & Chet Desmond: I don’t know how, I just know that it needs to happen to see how they’d bounce off each other. Chet got the short straw with Cable and Deer Meadow in general; Harry just likes them fancy agents...

Lucy Moran & Albert Rosenfield: this. This is the ultimate recipe for disaster. How can it turn out less-than-horrible for everyone involved? Especially with young Albert?

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Albert Rosenfield: wlw mlm solidarity? He used to be the one pulling all-nighters finding needles in haystacks, now it’s her job; is technology helping? Does she eventually get the full weight of what tulpa Diane and shooting tulpa Diane meant to him? What’s the latest Gordon gossip? What do they do for fun?

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Dale Cooper: she roasted him for two dossiers in a row and looked characteristically unimpressed in pt17; conversely, the narrative may or may not have positioned her as ‘the new Cooper’. Idk I just want them to meet somehow and feel the passing of the torch...

Tamara "Tammy" Preston & Margaret "The Log Lady" Lanterman: the lady said in TFD she would’ve liked to meet Margaret and I operate on a strict “give Tammy what she wants” policy, details schmetails. There are places in this world and others where the passing of time is at best a vague suggestion, so.

Wally Brando & Harry Truman: Wally visiting his godfather, whom he deeply respects! Frank wasn’t quite on board with Wally’s whole thing but what does Harry think of it?

Wally Brando & Laura Palmer & Dale Cooper: I have a soft spot for Dale and Laura traveling through strange spaces, lost, slowly healing. On this background, imagine, if you will: Wally speeding by on his bike. I need this meeting…

#letter

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sleepyverstappens · 7 years ago

Text

Dancing Through Life (9/?)

Title: Dancing Through Life

Pairing: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden

Rating: M

Warnings (New warnings in italics): Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Non-Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attack(s), Coming Out

Summary: Two boys, stuck in a small village in the Yorkshire Dales, until they found their unlikely way out, through ballet and each other.

A/N: Surprise! I found some stuff I had written in a notebook a while ago and actually managed to finish a chapter already :D! It's a quite dialogue heavy one, but I hope you all like it :) (Also this is from Aaron’s POV again, it just worked out liked that, will probably be back to switching between them in the next chapter).

(Read on AO3)

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8)

Chapter 9:

He heard the murmur of people in the theatre get louder and louder as he walked down the stairs towards the backstage area. He crossed the sign that told them the audience would be able to hear them from there on and finally found himself stage left. Nervous energy was running through his body as he caught a glimpse of the people finding their seats. This was only his 3rd show as a principle and it was his first original work. He knew his mum would be somewhere in the crowd of people, orchestra, row five, seat 16, to be precise, he had gotten her a seat smack-dab in the middle. Cain would probably be sitting next to her along with Lisa and Belle. Marlon, Charity and April were somewhere else in the theatre as he had only been able to reserve four tickets.

Cain had most likely been pressured by his mum to come along, his uncle still not the biggest fan of ballet, but he would do anything for his sister and his nephew. Lisa and Belle had come to love ballet and had been to most of his shows over the years. Marlon was only there because April had begged him, saying she was old enough to go and see Aaron perform now. And Charity was probably only there to get out of her shift of the Woolpack. Whatever their reason was for coming, Aaron appreciated it a lot, it was always great to share the high from an opening night performance with his family afterwards. He wondered how Robert must feel right now, no family there to support him.

Speaking of Robert, he caught his gaze briefly as Robert made his way over to the other side of the stage where he would enter. Yesterday’s events had played through Aaron’s mind all day long, not the best preparation for opening night but he had clearly been able to hide it better than Robert, as the other man had been called out more than once during the day. They hadn’t really spoken throughout the day, both trying to keep focussed on getting everything right for opening night.

He heard the opening notes ring through the theatre and looked over as Ruby entered the stage from the coulisse next to him. She danced her opening scene and one by one the other dancers entered the stage until it was only Aaron and Robert left backstage. He looked over to the other side of the stage and found Robert’s eyes focussed on him, with a small nod he acknowledged him. Robert nodded back and then they both entered the stage.

Aaron forgot about everything else around him and was fully focussed on dancing his heart out. Movements flowing from him as he danced the first pas de deux with Ruby, eyes focussed on the woman in his arms as he lifted her up easily and spun her in a pirouette. Then smirking over at Robert’s Etienne as he dipped her right in front of him. The characters’ battle for her hand had started.

A roaring applause burst through his bubble as they finished their pas de deux and he left the stage for Robert’s scene and pas de deux with Ruby. He had a few minutes to catch his breath before he was right back in another intense scene. Time seemed to fly as all of a sudden it was time for his and Robert’s duet. They looked at each other from opposite ends of the stage, reminiscent of the start of the show, and with another mutual nod they ran onto the stage and jumped up, both of them forming a perfectly timed jeté. He grabbed Robert’s arm and twisted him around and into his body, hands wrapping around his waist as he lifted him up high, eyes focussed on each other the whole time. Sparks were flying between them as Aaron lowered Robert back to the floor. Their hands lingered slightly as Etienne twisted away from Antoine in defiance, before both of their character started a petit allegro.

As they ended their quick movements their characters tried to one up each other by performing more and more complicated movements, until finally they burst and Aaron’s lift was coming up. Antoine made out to move away from Etienne, but then twisted around with a turn in the air before ‘launching’ himself at the other man in anger. Aaron runs up to Robert and feels the other man’s hands wrap around his hips as Robert lifts him up, turns around with the momentum before pushing him off again. Antoine seems to have lost the battle and applause rings through the opera house as Etienne dances victoriously, but then out of nowhere Antoine comes back and Etienne’s victorious sissonne clashes with Antoine’s aggressive sissonne and both of their characters are knocked down.

As Aaron and Robert fall down, Ruby’s Mathilde runs back onto the stage to see both of her suitors dead. She caresses both of them in a mournful dance, before being joined by the other female dancers in a synchronised dance as she stands strong while Aaron and Robert get dragged off stage by Adam and Alex.

Ruby finishes off with an impressive pirouette another loud roar of applause is reverberated throughout the Royal Opera House. Adrenaline rushes through his body as Robert and him run back onto stage to take their bows. Both of them grab one of Ruby’s hands as all three of them bow, before Ruby steps forward to take her own. People are standing and the applause seems deafening; and Aaron can’t seem to wipe the grin of his face as he takes in his surroundings.

A great opening night.

---

“Mate, have you read this?” Adam asked as he walks into their kitchen holding a newspaper. He must have gone out to get it, as they don’t normally get papers.

“What?”

“The review of the show,” Adam said as he shoves the newspaper into his hands.

“Brilliantly mesmerizing new Royal Ballet original.” The headline reads.

It talks about the basic premise of the story and praises Ruby’s performance, but the next line mentions him and Robert.

“The male competitors, while showing their skills to impress Mathilde, played by female lead Ruby Rosenthal, seem to actually have more sexual tension with each other than the female lead.”

Aaron huffs, “What are they on about?”

“Mate, it’s true though. It’s like there’s an invisible thread that you each keep pulling on, but you never seem to be able to get to each other.”

“Since when are you all metaphorical?” Aaron asks his best friend. Adam is great, but not always the smartest and hearing him spout some random metaphorical shit is confusing.

“I’m not, read the rest of the article.”

He reads the rest of the article, it mentions the bit that Adam had spouted at him. The writer wondering if this apparent sexual tension between the male leads is intentional or not. It then goes on to talk about the rest of the show and the other company dancers, before ending with the details of where to find tickets for the show.

The article gets him thinking. If even complete strangers could see what was going on between them, then why were they still playing this game?

Aaron wanted him, the two kisses they had shared had already left him wanting more, but then the itch should’ve been gone after their escapades the other day; it wasn’t gone, if anything his body craved more. He also knew Robert was right. Getting involved would complicate things at work. Especially now that they were in the same show and in these roles that shared so many scenes. Was Aaron willing to risk the fragile working relationship they had managed to build over the last few weeks?

---

“My sister is coming to the show today,” Robert said a few days after opening night. They hadn’t mentioned what had happened the day before opening night, but they hadn’t gone back to avoiding each other either, so Aaron considered it progress.

“That’s nice, right?” Aaron said with a smile, it always felt great to have family in the audience, he assumed Robert felt the same.

“Yes, it’s great. She would’ve come on opening night, but she couldn’t get out of work.”

“Ah, that sucks. What does she do?”

“She’s a cook in a pub,” Robert said with a frown.

“Not what you had in mind for her?” Aaron questioned.

“No, she’s way too good to be stuck in a village pub cooking grub for the local boozers. I’ve been trying to convince her to apply to a culinary school over here for ages now. I think she’s about to finally give in, now that I’m back in London, and she’s been moaning about her colleagues a lot lately.”

“It’s nice that you look after her like that,” Aaron replied.

“Yeah, well, I missed too much of her growing up already, guess I’m trying to make up for that still,” Robert sighs with a wary look on his face that intrigues Aaron.

“Why is that?”

“It’s complicated,” Robert replied too quickly, like it has become a rehearsed answer.

“Try me?”

“It wasn’t by choice. After my mum died… stuff… happened and I didn’t see her anymore, not until 7 years later when my dad died. She’s been coming to my shows ever since though, even came to Paris a bunch of times and we were able to forge a pretty great bond over the years.”

“Well, you should invite her backstage, introduce her to everyone,” Aaron responded, though his mind was racing with this new information. What was the ‘stuff’ that had happened all those years ago? Why hadn’t he seen his family for years? He had a feeling it was something to do with his father. Robert really didn’t like talking about him, but he didn’t want to push the other man. Knew he wouldn’t want people pushing him to talk about his. If Robert wanted to tell him he would, eventually.

---

“Victoria?” Aaron asked as Robert was about to introduce them.

“Aaron, hey.”

“Wait, you’re Robert’s sister?”

“Duh, you hadn’t made the connection yet? Sugden?

“Yeah, well there’s bound to be more Sugdens around than just your lot,” Aaron shrugged.

“What about all the times I mentioned going to London to see my brother called Robert perform,” Victoria chuckled.

“Wait, you two know each other already?” Robert asked, confused by the conversation going on in front of him.

“Why’d you never say you’re from Emmerdale?” was the response he got from Aaron instead.

“Hang on, you never did either!”

“Oh boys, you’re both as thick as each other,” Victoria said shaking her head. “With you both in the same show, I’d assumed you knew.”

“Okay, so how exactly do you know each other?” Robert asked again.

“Emmerdale is a tiny village, everyone knows everyone. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about that. And well she works in me mum’s pub.”

“Well, I haven’t really been back since I was 21 and then before that I hadn’t been back since I was 14,” Robert shrugged.

He sees Vic give Aaron a don’t ask look, which he’s grateful for. Though he assumed Aaron would be able to connect some of the dots after their talk about his parents.

“Wait, so you couldn’t come to opening night because my family was coming?” Aaron interrupted his train of thought.

“Yeah, they should really get some more non-Dingle staff at the Woolie! I was stuck working the bar and kitchen on my own until Bob was done at the caf! Anyway, now that we’re all caught up, let’s hit the town eh.”

“Vic, come on it’s the middle of the week, we’ve got a full day of work tomorrow,” Robert groaned, his body was already starting to ache now that the adrenaline boost from the performance was wearing off.

“Oh come on Robert! It’s one night, I’m sure you’ll be alright you old sod,” Vic said grinning broadly at her brother. “You coming with Aaron?”

“Yeah alright then, don’t want to be called old now do I? Is it okay if I ask Adam along as well?”

“Sure, the more the merrier. See Robert, Aaron’s coming.”

“Okay, okay, stop pestering me already,” Robert whined, but a smile starts pulling at his lips.

---

They had found their way to a pub not that far from the theatre, none of them feeling up to getting a taxi somewhere further away. The pub’s bustling around them, but not over crowded. It reminds Aaron of the Woolpack in a way, some obvious regulars are propped up at the bar. The booths filled with people nursing pints, some shoving handfuls of prawn cocktail crisps into their mouths as they chat amicably. There’s a more even mix of regulars and outsiders than there ever is in the Woolpack, but then they are in London after all. A young couple sits in the booth next to them, speaking a language he can’t really make out; a group of men with American accents are laughing loudly over at the booth in the corner, clearly having already downed a few. But it’s nice, easy, letting his sore muscles relax in the worn down leather from the booth they had managed to snag.

Adam and Vic had hit it off pretty quick and were now lost in their own world, leaving Aaron and Robert to entertain themselves.

“So why didn’t you tell me about her before?” Aaron asked.

“Well, I told you I had a sister didn’t I. Didn’t really think you’d know her, so why bother? And you never asked either,” Robert shrugged.

“Fair. Why’d you tell me about her coming today though?”

“Ever heard of making conversation, you know what we’re doing now,” Robert grinned. “Nah, I told you she couldn’t come opening night didn’t I, so I guess I wanted to tell you. Wanted to tell someone and as you may have noticed I don’t really have any other friends here yet. Not in the company at least and most of my old friends have moved to other places by now.” Robert seemed to hesitated slightly on the word friend, was that what they were?

“Right, so I was your only option?”

“Well, we had at least talked before,” Robert smirked, insinuation clear.

Aaron blushed slightly, mind all too eager to bring what had happened in the rehearsal room a few days ago back up to the forefront of his mind. He tried to ignore the insinuation though, in favour of questioning Robert some more; he wanted to find out more about him.

“So, why’d you come back to London if most of your friends have gone?”

“Like I said, London is my home. I guess I’m just a sentimental fool like that…” Robert said wistfully.

“Emmerdale not home to you anymore then?”

Robert just shook his head. “As I mentioned before, I haven’t been back there in 10 years. And that was only for two days, I hadn’t been back for 7 years before that.” Robert said, still avoiding the reason why he hadn’t been back there in so long. “It is to you?”

Aaron thought about that for a while. His family was back in Emmerdale, but it hadn’t really been his real home in a long time. Which is what he told Robert. The other man nodded.

“So, you go back there often?” Robert asked, turning the questions back on him.

“Hmm, not as often as I like. My mum comes down to London often enough, but I still miss her a lot. And the rest of ‘em only come down here every so often, opening nights mostly. So whenever I get the chance to make the trip up there I do. Wouldn’t dream of living back there full time though, much prefer the city life.”

“No gossiping old ladies, amiright,” Robert chuckled.

---

They talked some more about Emmerdale, but eventually the conversation diverged to other topics. They didn’t even talk about ballet, the conversation flowing easily without the need to fall back on that common ground.

Aaron saw Robert trying to stifle a yawn; feeling a yawn of his own start in response. He glanced over at the clock by the bar, it was almost midnight, the pub would be closing soon; it already being open later than most.

“We should probably head home, about to get kicked out anyway,” Aaron said. They were the only people left apart from the lone stranger sat at the bar that had just downed the last of his pint, and the bartender who was beginning to give them more and more dirty looks, clearly eager to close up.

“Yeah, let’s go. We can walk together, what way is your place?” Victoria asked.

Aaron told her which street him and Adam lived on and they found out that they lived only a few streets away from Robert, so they could walk a fair bit together.

Adam and Victoria walked a few steps in front of them, still chatting along easily even though they hadn’t stopped to catch their breath all night. Robert and him walked together quietly, happy to let the noises of the city be their soundtrack. Their shoulders brushed lightly every so often with how close they had ended up walking, sending a shiver down his spine every time. He could see his and Adam’s house dooming up all too soon and found himself slowing down his steps, not ready to say goodbye to Robert yet. They had both opened up more in the few hours in that pub than they had in the almost 2 months that they had been working together and he couldn’t help but want to know more.

“Oi Aaron lad, you coming or what?” Adam called out to them, already at their front door.

“Well this is me…” Aaron murmured.

“Right. See you tomorrow then?” Robert said softly, eyes roaming over Aaron’s face as if to take him in just once more. His hair was all floppy, falling over his forehead, having dried naturally after his post show shower; cheeks slightly red from the cold wind. He looked slightly sleepy and so much younger, and it made Aaron feel all soft inside.

“Yeah,” he sighed. And then all of a sudden lips were pressing against his cheek, gone all too soon again, but they left a his cheek tingling. A slight blush creeped up his neck as Robert hurried away, grabbing his sisters hand as if to get away as quickly as possible.

“Mate, you’ve got it bad,” Adam said all of a sudden, he hadn’t even notices his best friend walking up to him.

“Shut up,” Aaron huffed, quickly drawing the hand that was pressed against his cheek away, when had that happened?

#dancing through life #chapter 8 #my fic #robron #robron fic #emmerdale #emmerdale fic #aaron dingle #robert sugden #the ballet au

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